


Deployed

by vwright



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwright/pseuds/vwright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU] NATO forces declare WWIII and Vegard is called to serve for his country. Bård is forced to carry on at home without him for the first time. However, the escalation of fighting could leave both of them irrevocably damaged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The events, characters, and entities depicted in this work are fictional. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events, entities, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

It seemed odd to him, that there could be something so trivial and sweet happening at that moment. Bård watched the children onstage dressed as bearded shepherds and various animals, his youngest son fiddling with the tail on his cow costume. The boy paid no attention to the scene that was being enacted beside him—they had known for a while that he didn’t inherit his father’s stage presence or desire to perform. Sat beside his wife, their other two children in the seats beside her, he tried to be as engaged as possible when the world itself was on the brink of chaos. He looked down at his phone, refreshing the news page for the fifteenth time that night. No word yet. He knew the rest of the world was surely holding its breath just as he was, waiting to hear their lives change permanently. But the auditorium remained blissfully ignorant—for the children’s sake at least. It was the kind of thing that made him rethink family, his own life, his beliefs. Had they all made a mistake bringing children into the world they were about to face? He hoped not. There was still a chance it could all pass. He held onto that wisp of hope as the children sang in garbled unison.

He refreshed the news page again.

It was decided. The irony of children singing about peace brought unto the world chilled him. It didn’t last long before the whole room felt muted. This meant lots of things. He thought fiercely of these consequences as an emotional void crept in to spare him. His hand froze over his phone, and the glare of the screen caught his wife’s attention. He caught her stiffening after glancing over, and she gripped his hand in silence. He wondered how many other parents there knew now, if they were the only ones, or if the room had decided to ignore the declaration of war if just to watch their children smile one last time unaware.

The song finished and the parents rose, clapping and roaring. His own children cheered for their brother, who looked out at the audience to try and spot them. Bård smiled for him, not wanting to worry his son or make him think he was disappointed. The parents milled around in the lobby, waiting for the children to emerge from backstage. Bård watched as they told one another, the murmured chatter and dark worried faces they all shared. His eldest daughter noticed, and asked them what had happened. They would tell them all afterward, they decided, when they were together at home, and could explain it all properly. For now, they would celebrate the boy’s performance, and recall the highlights on the drive home. Bård laughed lightly here and there, not wanting to worry them. He couldn’t really think though, he wasn’t really even there. His mind was far off, running over and over to his brother and the empty prayers he would send for him that night.

 

 **BREAKING NEWS** \--  
 _NATO forces declare war on the Asian continent. The peace talks between eastern powers China and Russia and the Western coalition rendered no resolution, neither side willing to compromise on their opposing positions. NATO troops from the US, Canada, and other affiliated countries are said to begin deploying in as little as one month. Conscription legal in many NATO countries, public outcry has reached an all-time high for—_

Bård was sick of the news. It wasn’t getting better. Politicians were being politicians and carelessly throwing away the lives of their people who had no say in the matter. It infuriated him. He wouldn’t go. They’d have to drag him to a jail cell before he ever stepped foot on a battlefield. He always said that. He’d never felt any national pride or patriotic obligation to serve his country in that way. Although, he couldn’t say the same about his brother.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think they’ll make you go?” Maria asked. The two couples sat around a dinner table, cradling wine glasses filled and refilled hours ago. The sound of the television echoed in from the other room, and the voices of the children filtered into the space.

“No, no. The bulk of the troops will be Americans. Canada is even going in this time; they’ve got much bigger populations. Norway probably won’t even be called in, only the people already serving maybe.” Vegard spoke confidently, dismissively. The candlelight illuminated Helene’s downturned face. She smiled and nodded, but they all could spot her worry. They all felt it.

“Are you sure? The reports I’ve been hearing aren’t sounding good,” Maria started again. Bård knew she didn’t mean to be insensitive; she just coped with it differently. She needed the reassurance it wouldn’t happen, even while asserting that it would.

“Well if they do, they’ll call on the young people first. I’m far too old and out of shape for that kind of thing. Can you imagine me running for my life? I’d trip on a landmine in the first five minutes.” The brothers laughed, the wives didn’t. Bård traced his finger along the rim of his glass, their laughter fizzling out uncomfortably quick.

“World Ward III, eh?” Bård asked. Vegard scoffed.

“Hardly. This is the modern age; technology is too advanced for this to go on very long. People will get too scared before it goes any further and they’ll make some kind of negotiation.”

“If I were NATO, I’d end it now if it means an idiot like Vegard would be running at me with a gun. He’d take out his whole base just in practice training.” Vegard kicked him under the table and the two laughed once again. Maria lightened somewhat, but Helene didn’t crack a smile. Bård felt guilt pang in his stomach but kept laughing for his brother’s sake.

 

* * *

 

Two months after the war started and both sides had done considerable damage. A few cities on America’s east coast were destroyed, as were many in the east. Latest was the raid on Moscow. The situation was bad, and Bård’s country had finally decided to start supplementing the NATO forces with its own troops. It was unbelievable, and yet completely believable to him. He grew up that way. He remembered nights when the gunfire wouldn’t stop until it was already morning. He remembered sneaking into his brother’s bed when he was very little, and Vegard staying up to keep a pillow pressed against his ears for him so he could rest some. It was normal, routine. They both turned out all right, but he didn’t want that to be normal for his children. He distinctly remembered the day his brother left to serve for the army. Technically he was an adult, but Bård knew better. And Vegard was excited about it even—that he could never understand. He hugged him hastily before retreating back to his room as their parents drove his brother to the base. He wouldn’t see him for a while. Their younger brother played computer games the entire afternoon, while Bård stared at his ceiling trying to will away the anger he felt, the bitter taste in his mouth.

 

* * *

 

They were at the office. It was a Friday. Writing sketches all afternoon, they were tired and getting snippy with one another. With the bloodshed going on in the world the nation’s appetite for humor grew exponentially. The stakes were higher, and being funny suddenly became their civic duty. Vegard was pushing for a music video having something to do with fjords, which Bård thought was completely stupid. Not that he had a better idea, but someone had to kill it before Vegard got too attached and people were afraid to say no to him. Bård had been pushing around his brother his entire life; he never hesitated to let him know when he was being a complete idiot.

“You’re not even listening to me. I’m telling you, it’s—“ Bård interrupted his brother, not having the patience to hear one of his long-winded explanations on why something totally boring was actually interesting.

“Yes, I heard you. You want to make a song about geological boring shit. For fuck’s sake Vegard, you can get into that nerdy crap on your own time but you’re not going to waste mine and everyone else’s here.” The other writers shifted in their seats at the table uncomfortably. The conference room had fallen silent except for the quarreling pair.

Vegard huffed and kicked his chair back from the table, rolling further away. “You’re so impossible! Just hear me out, it starts out being about a fjord but then around—“

“If you don’t make me laugh in the next five seconds with your explanation we’re not doing it.”

“Oh come on.”

“I’m counting down, let’s hear it.” Bård revealed his watch to make the count when Vegard’s phone went off. He looked at the ID and hesitated.

“I have to take this.” He got up from his chair and made for the door.

“Oh sure you do, very convenient.” The door swung shut behind his brother who brought the phone to his ear, standing just outside the room. “Your time is up, by the way!” he shouted at him through the wall, his brother’s figure blurred from the frosted glass. Vegard didn’t seem to hear him, and walked away hurriedly after muffling something into the phone.

They decided then was as good a time as any to have lunch. Bård got sushi. He knew Vegard would be angry he didn’t pick up any for him too, not that he cared. His brother was being a little shit. It was their fourth season; after their relative success abroad there was a certain level of expectation from them. They couldn’t be wasting their time on half-baked ideas anymore, just hoping they’d turn out good in the end. He knew succumbing to the pressure of the audience was poison for comedy, but he also thought it was good to be striving for better. He avoided Vegard’s office on the way back to his own to avoid confrontation, but in the end it didn’t matter. The team had waited two hours in the conference room chatting and goofing off before Vegard’s assistant came in and told them he had left for the day.

Bård was surprised; he didn’t think he had been that annoyed with him. But it was the end of the week, and he probably just wanted to go home, fix a burst pipe or something to reaffirm his masculinity.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t hear from his brother until the next day. It was getting dark and Bård went out to the storage shed in the backyard to retrieve an extension cord. He had it in his right hand when his phone buzzed. A text from Vegard.

It simply read: _I’ve been called in to serve._

The mark Bård etched into the side of the shed with his fist from repeated blows would remain there for the rest his life.


	2. Chapter 2

It was idiotic. He couldn’t serve. There had to be some way to petition it. Coherent thoughts like these only came later, after the blinding rage had calmed following a few hours and a few drinks in town. Maria said he was upsetting the children, and told him to take a walk, come back when he wasn’t so volatile.

It was how he ended up at the bar, how he had joined a table of young twenty-somethings for two rounds of drinks (something he’d regret later when a tabloid would write it up with some unflattering pictures), how he’d refused to go back with them to drink more someplace else, how he sat alone at the bar watching the news broadcast about another bombing in St. Petersburg—60 civilians killed—and how he had three more shots just to stop his hands from shaking.

Bård walked out into the freezing cold. There were young couples and stragglers laughing in the square, taking cabs home. He knew he should probably do the same. He remembered thinking that, and then arriving outside Vegard’s house at two in the morning. How he got there was foggy, but he thought he might have aggressively forced the cab driver to change routes when he was more than halfway home. 

He wasn’t as familiar with this house since they’d moved to Oslo, but he knew well enough where the backdoor was. He used his key to let himself in, quietly as he could. Bård walked through the dark kitchen into the entryway with the stairs, creeping up slowly so he wouldn’t trip. He did, however, and his knee connected with the sharp edge of a step. He heard a crack and felt it cut his knee even through his jeans. Fuck these modern design houses, he thought. The fall sobered him somewhat, and he decided it was probably unwise to sneak into his brother’s bedroom in the middle of the night unannounced. He pulled out his phone and called his brother’s cell.

“What the fuck, Bård?” Vegard’s voice was softened with sleep and a groan of frustration carried over the line.

“Come downstairs.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I fell on your fucking stairs, help me get up.”

“Oh god, Bård, why are you doing this to me.” Vegard hung up before Bård could give a petulant, drunken response.

He heard a door shut from the floor above, and watched his brother’s dark figure come into view. His expression was unsympathetic to say the least.

“What have you done now, Bård?”

“I fell.”

“Obviously.” Vegard knelt down and hoisted his brother up. When Bård put his weight down on his leg, pain shot through his knee. He gasped and brought his hand down to cradle it. Perhaps he hurt it worse than he had thought. “What’s wrong with your leg?” 

“Your steps mangled it. Those things are a fucking hazard, Vegard.”

“To very drunk people, maybe,” Vegard muttered. Bård scoffed. “Come on, we’ll go downstairs.” Vegard slung Bård’s arm around his shoulder and together they descended the steps, finally arriving in the living room where he deposited him onto the couch. 

“You’re not going,” Bård launched in. He didn’t look at his brother standing above him. Vegard sighed.

“I think I have to.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“We’re on TV, that counts us out doesn’t it?” Vegard sat on the couch next to Bård. He kept his face calm, but he too couldn’t sustain eye contact with his brother. 

“Somebody has to go, Bård. I signed up for this, remember?”

“Pft, that was years ago. You didn’t sign up for _this_. No one was fighting then, you were a young idiot. ”

“And you’re drunk. Did you come here just to tell me I’m stupid some more?”

“Why are you not angry about this?”

“What can I do? I don’t have a choice. We all have to do our part for the country.”

“That is such shit. You’re really going to buy into that? Murdering people for your country? I know that’s not something you can do. That’s not something you believe in.”

“Obviously, I’m not—“

“But you know that’s what you’ll be doing.”

“I’m not going to be—“

“Yes, you are. People are dying every fucking day, Vegard. You’re going to have to kill someone out there, whether you like it or not, if you go. Are you okay with that? That’s all fine to you?” Bård had sat up, body language confrontational while his brother cowered from him.

“I don’t—“ Vegard looked at him wide-eyed.

“You don’t what?” Bård’s temper had reemerged from earlier that night. He eagerly awaited his brother’s explanation for the unexplainable. Vegard looked down, and his brow furrowed. Were Bård more sober, he would have been able to tell far quicker that his brother was not fine. He was not fine at all. Before he could form an apology, Vegard’s body straightened and his face turned to Bård angry.

“I don’t know why you can’t just be on my side for once.”

“I _am_ on your side, Vegard, don’t you get that? I’m always on your side.” Their eyes locked. The vulnerability in that moment was something they hadn’t shared in years. Vegard looked away uncomfortable, and it only broke Bård more. “Jesus, it’s so bad out there.” His voice hitched with emotion. Normally he would just stop where he was, but the alcohol pushed him further. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “You could die. I can’t have that. We’re supposed to do this together. We’re supposed to do the show together, live our lives, here, together. How are we supposed to do that if you’re gone, huh? What am I supposed to do if—if you’re just…gone.” Vegard stared at his brother’s leg. He waited several pained seconds before responding.

“I don’t know.” It was all he could manage. The two sat in silence, Bård contemplating a world where there was no war and they could carry on, making hurtful remarks to one another and it meaning nothing. Bård thought about what Vegard would remember of him once he left, if he would feel bitter for the things he said. He glanced at his brother, the distant stare on his face, and felt he needed to leave. Right away. He rose abruptly from the couch and hissed, remembering the injury from earlier.

Catching Vegard’s attention, he stood too, his face full of worry. “What are you doing? Be careful.”

“I’m going. I should go home. I’ll call a cab.” He took two steps and stopped again, the pain hitting him hard each time.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re staying here tonight.” 

“No, it’s fine I’ll just—“ 

“Shut up, Bård. I’m the big brother, I say you’re staying here, okay?” Bård conceded, with less reluctance than he tried to put on. “Let’s take a look at that leg, while we’re at it.” Vegard pulled Bård’s arm over his shoulder again and supported him to the bathroom. 

Vegard cleaned and bandaged his cut for him, while Bård slumped on the toilet. Exhaustion overcame him, barely able to keep his eyes open as his brother inspected the bruising and swelling on his knee.

Vegard took his brother into the guest bedroom and lowered him gently onto the bed. Tucking him under the covers and propping up his head on a pillow, his little brother passed out almost immediately. He went to turn off the light on the nightstand, when a warm hand grabbed his own. He turned, Bård’s eyes barely open. 

“Hey.” Bård’s voice was muffled with sleep and blankets. Vegard squatted down next to the bed, eye level with his brother.

“Yeah?”

Bård’s eyelids fluttered, fighting sleep.

“Don’t leave. Please.” His eyes shut with the last words, his mouth slightly open. Their hands still linked, Vegard held onto Bård’s open palm. He knew his brother was already sleeping, but he spoke anyway.

“You know I want to stay.” He rubbed slow circles into Bård’s wrist with his thumb. “All I want is to stay here with you—I want everything to stay exactly the same.” He looked into his brother’s peaceful face. He opened his mouth to say more, but only a sigh escaped. Vegard slipped his hand away from his brother’s and stood. His absence caused Bård’s brow to furrow and pull his arm in to his body, shifting on the mattress. Vegard cast a somber gaze on his discomfort, shutting the door behind him in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Between the first summons and when he had to report to the base, they had a month. Just one month to prepare, to rearrange their lives indefinitely. TV Norge was upset, naturally, but agreed to put their contracts on a flexible hold for six months before they would re-negotiate terms. When they went into the office that day, Bård did the talking; he let the staff know they would be out of work until the world stopped trying to kill each other. Vegard stood beside him uncomfortably, incessantly tapping his foot and scratching his arm while his brother laid out the details. Bård wondered if Vegard was ever bothered that his little brother tended to handle the tricky situations in their lives, but quickly realized it didn’t matter; he would always be willing to spare his brother from those things whether he wanted it or not.

 

* * *

 

For the most part, things were normal. They didn’t speak much outside of the office, and since they rarely went into the office anymore, they kept an amiable distance.

A week before his brother’s leave, Bård drove back from the grocery store. He was trying his hand at one of his wife’s recipes for the first time. Since things weren’t going to be busy for a while, he thought he’d try to open up his domestic side. His phone beeped—a text from Vegard, asking if he wanted to fly that afternoon. Bård craned his neck forward to look at the sky. It was clear, no clouds, and a startling shade of blue. His fingers ghosted over the keys before typing that he couldn’t, he had other plans.

 

* * *

 

The night before Vegard’s last they had a party. It was at his house; crowded with family, friends, coworkers, and lots and lots of booze. Bård arrived an hour late, his whole family in tow. The children took off to play with their cousins, while Maria brought a dessert dish and headed to the kitchen. Bård looked for his brother among the crowd for only a few seconds before he was approached by one of the producers of their show. He was roaring drunk, and pushed a full glass of something at Bård early on in the conversation. He ranted on as Bård spotted Vegard across the room. His wife was glued to his side and the couple laughed at something another couple said to them. Bård took a long sip of his glass, watching him from the corner of his eye as the man talked at him. His throat burned and suddenly this man’s company became some kind of torture tactic. Another of their coworkers joined the conversation and Bård took his opportunity to duck out. He made his way across the room to his brother, walking slow to not look as desperate as he felt. Vegard spotted him when he was a few feet away, and held his gaze as the others in the group talked on. He smiled slightly, which Bård returned. 

When he reached the group, the brothers greeted one another with nods and friendly slaps on the shoulder.

“Hey,” Bård said. 

“Look who finally showed up.” Vegard crossed his arms. 

“Be nice, Vegard!” Helene smacked his arm. She leaned over to Bård and kissed his cheek. “You know you’re not going to see each other for a while, it’d be good of you to behave.” Vegard tutted, and Bård chuckled into his glass. “Oh hell, I forgot the appetizer, I’ll be back.” She set down her glass, and touching her husband’s arm headed to the kitchen.

Bård moved to lean beside his brother on the table, observing their surroundings.

“Your place is a mess,” he started.

“Shit, tell me about it. Our friends are fucking pigs.” 

“And everyone’s hammered already, it seems.” 

“I’m getting there myself,” Vegard tossed back the remaining champagne from his wife’s glass.

“Are Mom and Dad here?” Bård asked. 

“Yeah, they got in last night. We went and picked up Bjarte from the airport this morning.”

“Where is he?” The two scanned the room until their eyes landed on their little brother, sitting on a couch with one of Helene’s uncles. He laughed hysterically, doubled over, face red, cradling a glass, while the older man shifted away uncomfortably.

“Yep,” the two said in unison. They erupted in laughter simultaneously, earning a few sympathetic smiles from onlookers. Bård turned to look at his brother’s face as their laughter died. He nudged him.     

“So, are you enjoying yourself? Feeling the love?” Vegard smiled and looked into his glass, hissing a laugh. Bård studied his face. It was a smile that spoke sadness.“Vegard--”

“Hey,” Helene grabbed Vegard’s arm, both brothers snapping their heads up. “Your cousin just arrived, come say hi.”

“Wonderful,” Vegard groaned. His wife shushed him and pulled him along, Bård watching as he slumped away.

They were linked by a ten-foot invisible tether the entire night. Each made their rounds, Bård the more practiced of the two, going from circle to circle picking up drinks along the way. They never strayed far from one another; Bård kept tabs on his brother, watching his interactions. His body language became increasingly less awkward as the night went on and he consumed more alcohol. Each time Bård moved past him, he would touch his shoulder or bump his arm. Vegard would smile, and Bård would keep walking like he hadn’t done it at all. They went on this way until everyone was ushered into the kitchen where a cake was brought out.

Bjarte made an embarrassing toast, swearing more than was appropriate for the given company, which was cut off by their father who finished it off quickly.

The crowd thinned as the hours wore on, and Bård and Vegard finally gravitated into the same conversation. They leaned on a couch with a cousin of theirs, who had taken full advantage of the free alcohol.

“Fuck, Vegard, how are you holding up?” their cousin slurred.

“Ah, I’m fine, really.” 

“Oh come on, you’re joking. Honestly, I’d cut off my foot before I went off to a war like this.” Bård saw his brother’s uncomfortable expression and came to his rescue.

“No, he’s telling the truth. He’s dealing with this much better than I am. I’m a mess—my career is over while he gets to travel the world on the country’s dime. I’m the one really getting screwed here.” Vegard’s face lightened, and Bård caught his feigned-offended smile with a wry one of his own.

“Hey, you always said you wanted to fire me and get your own show. Now’s your chance.” 

“You know, I hadn’t thought of it that way. This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Their cousin set off laughing. It was the same old bit: bratty little Bård wanting the spotlight and hating his big brother. It was familiar, but now it gave Bård an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He looked at Vegard, who smiled at him, eyes sincere. He thought that he must know how he really felt. He truly hoped he did. 

The evening was coming to a close. Most of the party had cleared out with the exception of a few family members. Bård’s children had fallen asleep in one of their cousin’s rooms, and Maria decided it was time to leave. She hadn’t drank anything the entire night, and was not amused by her husband’s drunken pleas to stay. After staying an extra hour he conceded, and headed to the bathroom while she loaded the kids into the car. 

As he wandered out through the hall, he spotted his brother standing alone in the kitchen. Pacing back, he walked up behind him and punched his arm. It earned him a startled yelp and half hearted shove in return.

“Shit you scared me.”

“That was the point.” The two leaned on the center island, looking through the doorway to the living room. There were two people passed out on a couch, three of their friends singing a song they didn’t know the words to, and their parents listening intently to a story their uncle was telling.

“Are you heading out?” Vegard asked.

“Yeah, got to drive back and the kids are exhausted.”

“You’re coming over tomorrow though?”

Bård turned to look at his brother. He was surprised by the hint of anxiety in his voice.

“Yeah, I thought we’d all come over for the lunch.” 

“Oh, you’re all coming?” The disappointment in his voice was poorly hidden. Bård attributed it to the wine. He was still nursing a glass even at that hour.

“Yes…”

“Okay, good.” It was as if Vegard had only then realized his slip up, and compensated with too late enthusiasm. Bård wasn’t buying it.

“What?” 

“Nothing. That’s good. You’ll come to the big lunch. Say goodbye then.” Vegard was casual, and to anyone else they would have heard sincerity. But Bård knew better—he almost always knew what his brother was thinking or feeling. Every inflection of his words was like a subtitle in a language only he was fluent in.  

“I could come later, if that’s what you want.”

“No, no. It’s fine. You can help Mom and Dad get it together after the hysterics they’ll be in.” 

“Give them a break, Vegard, they’re just going to miss you.”

Vegard looked down, unable to meet his brother’s gaze. Bård worried. He was doing that smile again, the hollow one that he only made when he felt like doing anything but smiling. Bård nudged his arm with his fist. “I’ll stay after they’re gone. Help you mop up their tears.” Vegard rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay, go on, Maria’s waiting for you. She’ll be pissed at me if she finds out I’m what’s holding you up.”

Bård was conflicted by reason and emotion, knowing he needed to leave but only wanting to stay—just stay there in the kitchen until dawn broke. 

“You’d better get out there too, Bjarte looks like he’s going to piss himself if someone doesn’t take care of him soon.” They looked out to where their youngest brother slumped over a chair, his body shaking in what could have either been laughter or tears—it was impossible to tell.

“Fuck…”

Bård smiled a wry grin and slapped his brother on the arm.

“All right, good luck. See you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Bård left his brother standing in the kitchen, finishing his glass in one last gulp. If he had turned around, Bård would have seen his brother cradle his brow and inhale deeply, eyes closed until he was finally gone. But he didn’t, and Bård left to meet his family while Vegard went to clean up his.

Bård’s mind skipped and circled on the ride back. He didn’t want to think of the next day. He didn’t think about any of the things he was going to say, or not say. He didn’t even think about what time he was going to arrive or leave. Instead his thoughts wandered to his brother’s house. He thought about how much it would need to be cleaned after the party, and how much it would stress out Vegard to need it clean before he left. He thought about his kitchen and his stairs. Bård wondered if he would ever drunkenly trip up them again, or when he would next lean against the counter with his brother; when just Vegard would do any of those things again, if he ever would.


	4. Chapter 4

He thought he could be good about it. He thought he could smile, laugh, and generally act complacent to the situation he was in. He was wrong. He knew it wasn’t about him, he knew it was his brother who had been dealt the bad hand, but the overwhelming feelings of abandonment controlled his heart and tongue, making for a cold and twisted temperament. When Bård was faced with his placeless anger, he looked where he always had—to his brother.

 

* * *

 

Bård woke up restless, angry, and exhausted. He could only manage four hours of solid sleep, which was a definite sign of distress. But Bård didn’t want to be distressed, didn’t want to believe he was, and so he morphed the clenching feeling in his stomach into irritation.

He skulked around his house for a few hours, avoiding waking his family. It was a Sunday morning after all, and even on a normal day they liked to sleep in. Mostly he just sat around, trying to focus his attention on something, anything menial to take his mind off the day. Instead he kept finding himself staring into space, trying to keep the roaring panic and anxiety he could practically hear in his ears at bay.

He looked at his phone repeatedly, checking the time over and over as the morning crept on. When it was thirty minutes past when he was supposed to be at his brother’s house, he ran upstairs to his room and dressed hurriedly.

He did his best to be quiet, but as he grabbed his jacket he heard his wife stir in the bed. She sat up, Bård catching her gaze in the mirror.

“What’s going on, are you leaving?” She stifled a yawn.

“Yep.”

“Why didn’t you wake me? I thought we were all going today.”

“Yeah, well.” He knew he was being short with her. She would suspect something if he didn’t play nice. “They decided they just wanted the family there. The immediate family, or whatever.”

“Okay…” He sensed her unease, but he also knew that she was smart enough not to provoke him when he was upset. Bård pocketed his keys from the table by the door. “When will you be back?”

“Later. I’ll call you.” He made for the door when he saw his wife scrambling out of bed.

“Hey, hold on.” She reached him and placed a calm hand on his arm. “It’s going to be okay, you know.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile, trying his best not to be rude, but he needed to leave—immediately. Every second he spent in his house felt like choking.

“Yeah. I have to go, I’m late.” She nodded and he pecked her lips in haste. Bård trotted down the stairs away from his home and family, and out to the car that would take him to his brother.

The drive over felt like driving himself to the gallows. He didn’t know why all he felt was dread, but he wasn’t one to overthink his instincts.

He walked up to the house, the front door already open. He could hear the bustle from the kitchen and walked toward the sound. He stood in the doorway observing the scene before him, not wanting to announce himself just yet. His mother and sister in law busied themselves over the stove and chopping vegetables for a salad. Into the dining room his father sat at the large table with his niece and nephew, appearing to be playing some kind of guessing game. His brother stood over the sink washing dishes, turned away from him. Bård didn’t want to be there—badly. There was an itch under his skin, a small voice telling him that maybe if he turned around now he could escape unnoticed.

“Ah! Bård, there you are,” his mother exclaimed. She wiped her hands with a cloth and hurried over to him. She pulled him in and kissed his cheek. “Finally. Would it kill you to be on time once? You’ll be late to your own funeral.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bård pushed her off, trying his best to seem cheerful and unaffected. The brothers exchanged a quick nod across the room. Bård pursed his lips to his brother’s slight smile.

“But where is Maria? And my sweet little darlings?” Her brow furrowed and her voice seemed worried. He realized he hadn’t thought of an excuse yet. Luckily, improvisation was one of his greatest strengths.

“The little one got sick last night. She’s staying home, taking care of him.”

“Oh, poor thing,” his mother cooed. He caught Vegard’s eyes. He knew he was lying. “Well why didn’t you bring the girls?” Bård opened his mouth to lie again.

“Mom, can you finish the salad please? You can interrogate him later.” Vegard cast him a glance, one that hid a smile and said _you owe me_. Bård looked back blank, taking his brother aback.

Their mother stepped away and Bård strode into the dining room, planting himself at the table beside his father and nephew. If he thought it out right, Vegard would sit as far away from him as possible.

Just then, his brother popped his head from the kitchen, startling his younger brother.

“Bård, can you help me bring this stuff out and set up?”

“Why? It’s just forks and knives, why can’t you do that yourself?” Bård snapped.

“Okay…” Vegard huffed slightly and walked back into the kitchen.

“What? What did I say?” Bård questioned the room.

“You shouldn’t be so lazy, Bård,” his mother called disapprovingly, as she walked back into the dining room with a bowl. She walked out again, taking on the task of helping his brother.

“What, he’s a fully grown man now. He’s a soldier for Christ’s sake, he should be used to just doing things for others without question.”

“Cut it out, Bård.” Their father spoke softly, and it unsettled Bård enough to shut him up. He seemed tired. While their mother’s temperament seemed as if her son was only going away for the weekend, their father’s spirit was dim and muted, like resign.

Bård looked around idly, and noticed an unaccounted for chair at the table.

“Where’s Bjarte?” he asked.

“Asleep,” his father responded. Bård raised an eyebrow. “He practically poisoned himself last night with how much he drank.”

“The little brat doesn’t get any lunch,” his mother chimed in, setting down napkins at each setting. “I tried waking him up earlier and he actually shoved me! He’s probably still drunk for god’s sake. I’ll try him again for dessert, but there’s no guarantees.”

“What time are you all leaving?” Bård asked.

“We fly back to Bergen at 5, Bjarte too. So he’ll have to get up sooner or later,” his father said.

Bård nodded noncommittally. Only a few minutes of idle chatter between his father and the children passed before the food was brought out and the entire Ylvisåker family sat down to eat one last meal together. Except Bjarte, of course, but he was always in a world of his own.

They had lamb and roasted vegetables with pita bread and hummus. Vegard’s favorite. The table was tense, or at least Bård felt it was. Or maybe the _lack_ of tension was what made him uneasy. The family laughed and joked with one another. Vegard and his wife made eyes at each other like they were still in their honeymoon phase. None of it felt real. Bård didn’t understand how they could be behaving like this, when they all knew something very very wrong was about to come. How could they just pretend they weren’t upset? Bård wasn’t having any of it, and the clawing anger that woke him that morning urged him to bring it to their attention.

“So are you excited for deployment?” Bård looked directly at his brother. Vegard caught his gaze and quirked his eyebrow. “To get out of this fucking dump finally?” Bård motioned to the immaculate home around him. Helene looked up, her eyes conveying repressed hurt.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk?” Vegard asked. Bård saw his brother trying to hide his irritation with laughter. He was still giving Bård the benefit of the doubt. Bård saw to it that he wouldn’t for much longer.

“No, but you should be. Can’t imagine you’re going to be doing much of that while you’re out there. They’ll want you to be able to aim straight when you’re shooting at little Russian kids—sorry, I mean _the enemy_.” Their mother let out a light gasp and Vegard stopped mid chew. He put down his fork and looked up at his brother with pure anger in his eyes.

“Are you kidding me?” Vegard asked, voice low.

“Bård,” their father warned.

“Oh come on,” he addressed the whole table. “What do you guys think he’s going to be doing out there? Sightseeing? Have you seen the news lately? It’s _war_. People die. It’s bloody. He’s going to have to shoot someone eventually, that’s just a fact.”

“Could you just shut up and fucking eat?” Vegard asked. Bård leaned forward. He had no control now, his anger taking hold of his tongue to speak every dark and hurtful thought he ever had.

“I bet you didn’t even try to petition it, did you?”

“Why are you doing this? Why do you care?” Vegard sat back in frustration. His refusal to fight back only provoked Bård more. But he could make his brother crack.

“Oh, no reason, I’m just totally screwed. My show was canceled thanks to you, and now I get to sit around twiddling my fucking thumbs until you get back.” He spared a glance at Helene, who sat back in her chair, eyes far, face controlled, and without emotion. “And look at her, for god’s sake. She’s already so used to your abandonment that it does nothing.” He motioned in front of his face to show her blankness. Helene looked up at him, eyes dead. Though, it had the desired effect on Vegard; he stood and pointed at his brother.

“Shut the fuck up, Bård. Don’t you fucking dare say anything about my wife.”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s really thinking.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that? Let’s hear it,” Vegard encouraged. His relaxed tone was exactly what drove Bård crazy, and he knew he was doing it on purpose.

“You’re selfish.” Bård tried his hand at sounding unaffected, but it was too contrived. Vegard just nodded and put his hands on his hips.

“All right, what else? Keep it coming.”

“You’d rather just roll over and take it from the fucking government, go out and kill people than stand up for yourself.” Bård didn’t bother to hide his anger then.

“Anything else?” It was like Vegard wanted him to do it. He was daring his brother to really go for it, and Bård was glad to oblige. He sat back in his chair and controlled his tone, ready for the final blow. The masterstroke.

“Yeah, and you’re a bad father. Who would do this to their kids?”

Vegard lunged forward across the table. Their mother reached out to stop him.

“Vegard please!” she shouted. He looked at his children’s frightened faces and backed down. Bård won. He got what he wanted. He wondered why he’d never felt keener loss.

“Listen, I have to go.” Bård stood up from his seat. “My son is sick and _I_ actually intend to be there for him.”

“Bård, that’s enough!” Their father smacked his hand down on the table. Bård ignored him, grabbing his jacket off from over his chair.

“Bård!” Their mother called again, though he looked at none of them. The children had fallen silent and Helene simply held her head in her hands, looking down.

“Just let him go, he doesn’t want to be here,” Vegard spoke, controlling his sneer. Bård looked at him, the stare communicating nothing but anger. Vegard remained constant, while Bård’s fury began to crack. He looked away, concealing what he could of his emotions as he left the room. He got the feeling that it didn’t really matter. Vegard knew what he was doing, and it was too late.


	5. Chapter 5

Bård came home well after the sun had set. He opened his front door to find his house buzzing, as it usually is when one has a family of five. The numbness from the day’s events left him in a cloud, and the yelling of children and blare of the television couldn’t penetrate his world.

In fact, when his wife realized his arrival, he didn’t quite understand what she was saying as she bombarded him with questions and information. 

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“I asked where you were.” His wife tried to hold his drifting gaze, clearly not understanding his confusion. 

“Oh…traffic coming back was bad. I think there was an accident on the highway, we were stopped dead for thirty minutes.” 

Bård took five hours getting home not because of traffic, but because he decided to take a five hour detour around the outskirts of Oslo and the surrounding cities. Just driving. Attempting to get away without actually being able to leave.

“Well why didn’t you answer your phone? I called you twice.” He avoided her eye contact. 

“Must have been on silent.”

In reality, he had noticed the two calls from his wife, but figured they were just her asking where he was, which he couldn’t really say since he stopped paying attention to where he was going after the first hour. And besides that, he was fed up with his phone after ignoring six calls from Vegard and four urgent texts. 

The messages asked Bård to call him back, that he needed to talk, it was important. The one voicemail he opened sounded basically the same. Bård only got through _Pick up your phone, I really need to talk to you this is fucking important. I need—_ before he deleted it. He actually sounded pretty angry, but he couldn’t bear to apologize to his brother just yet. He needed more time to be the younger brother, the immature one who was allowed to throw tantrums and not have to deal with the consequences. 

“Well your brother is in the guest room. He just got here, he’s setting his stuff down and he’ll be out here soon I imagine.” His breath stopped short. The clocks stopped ticking. A cold stillness shot from Bård’s heart to his stomach. 

“Wait, what? Which brother?” 

“Vegard, obviously.” 

“Why? Why is Vegard here?” 

“Helene is at the hospital. Her father? Jesus Christ Bård you can’t just go off like that, you’re completely out of the loop.” His panic turned to dread, breath quickening. 

“What—what happened to her father?” 

“He had a heart attack. She took a flight back to Bergen, she’s at the hospital now.” 

He suddenly became aware that there were five children in the living room, not three. 

“Fuck, that’s—that’s horrible.” His mind was reeling with the flood of information, and as bad as it made him feel, the tragic news couldn’t replace what answers he really needed. “I don’t—but who’s going to take Vegard to the base tomorrow?” 

“You are, idiot.” Her arms full of Tupperware containers, she kicked his leg playfully. Steps sounded from the hall. Bård looked up and saw his brother standing in the threshold, watching his children play with their cousins. He caught his brother’s gaze and held it—he could feel the bitterness burning from across the room. 

Bård saw his eyes. They were small, red, tired. He had been crying. Bård himself had only seen him do it a few times in his life, but the telltale signs were all there. Guilt rippled through Bård’s core. He never got to apologize to Helene. The extent of how unfair he had been made his stomach churn. 

“Vegard, there you are. I’m heating up some food right now. Go sit down at the table, and Bård grab the kids,” Maria instructed. Vegard eased over to the dining room, not sparing his brother another glance. Bård figured if Vegard was going to be nonchalant, then he should too. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t take a shot—or maybe two—to inspire such courage. 

The dinner was tense, but not as much as he thought it would be. Bård didn’t have to worry about speaking to his brother, because to his unsettling relief, Vegard didn’t seem to have any desire to do so either. The food they ate was too spicy; he could tell Vegard hated it even though he didn’t say it. He didn’t say much of anything besides responding to the conversation the children were making. When they were finished, Vegard offered to put the children to bed. His wife said she wanted an early night also, and Bård told her not to wait up as he headed for the shower. 

He stood under the spray, trying to calm himself, tire his mind and breathe—but to no avail. From the moment he saw his brother standing in the hallway, with that shattered face and resigned expression, his heart couldn’t keep still. His mind was wired and anxiety built in his gut, shortening his breath. 

He dressed in his pajamas and walked down the hall, peering into the dark room where the children slept. He was impressed that Vegard was able to put them down so quickly. It had taken him at least 8 years to master that skill. 

Vegard. 

Bård walked back toward his own bedroom, hand dragging along the bannister as he went. Vegard was down there. He could deal with him in the morning, get rest now. He could let the last night he had left with his brother fly by him in a whirl of unconsciousness. It didn’t have to be hard. It could just happen, and be over. 

Bård all but ran down the stairs. 

It occurred to him halfway there that his brother could have gone to sleep. He had a big day ahead of him, after all. 

He rounded the corner of the hallway and slowed his pace as he approached. He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know what he expected. He would like to say that his guilt made it easy to apologize, to admit why he lashed out. But really it just made it harder. It made it almost impossible. 

The door was open, light on, and Bård knew he should have trusted his instincts that Vegard wouldn’t be asleep. His brother came into view, sitting on the guest bed with the alarm clock from the side table in his lap. He was digging into the back of it, peering at its innards. Wires and little parts were strewn across the bed, as Vegard appeared to have dismantled it. 

“I’m fixing it, if you’re wondering.” Vegard didn’t look up, just held the clock closer to his face. Bård emerged from the shadow of the hall, leaning in the doorway. 

“What do you know about fixing clocks?” 

“Enough.” 

“Since when?” Vegard shrugged, but offered no response. Bård knew the difference between their silences: the comfortable, mutual ones filled with placid warmth, and the icy ones that were meant to punish each other. The little clicks emanating from the clock echoed in the room, sounding like piercing wails to Bård’s ears. “Well…” Not even a look from his brother. “I was trying to say earlier—” 

“Do you have a screw driver around somewhere?” Vegard finally looked at him, his face the most irritating brand of calm. Bård struggled to withhold his frustration. 

“Do you have to do that?” Vegard shrugged in response. 

“No.” He continued to prod the clock with his thumb. Bård took a deep breath. Coaxing Vegard out of anger was a delicate matter. 

“I’m telling you that I—” 

“Okay, I guess I’ll go look out there.” Vegard got up from the bed, placing the clock on the side table. He strode right past Bård, turning his body sideways to avoid making contact with his brother. Bård scoffed, but Vegard paid no mind and went into the kitchen. 

Bård followed right behind. He found Vegard opening a drawer near the sink, rifling through its contents in an indelicate manner, to say the least. Bård stood between the kitchen and the hall, irritation rising like bile in his chest. But he had to push on. In his mind, there was a countdown to the morning. Roughly ten hours remained before it would happen. He didn’t know _what_ was going to happen, exactly, to himself once Vegard was gone, but Bård knew it couldn’t be anything good.

“Earlier I was f—” Vegard slammed shut the drawer and opened the next with just as much force. Patience wasn’t Bård’s best virtue. “Are you going to let me talk to you?” 

“Nope.” Vegard pushed his hands around in a drawer that clearly didn’t contain a screwdriver, but he did it just the same. 

“Of course not. That’s so typical of you. Shut everyone out.” Vegard continued expressing himself through the slamming of drawers. “Fine, go ahead and have your personal pity party.” 

“What?” At last he was able to make his brother stop. Vegard turned to him, crouched on the floor. “Oh really? I’m the one pitying myself?” 

“What does that mean?” Bård was encouraged. Perhaps he was finally able to rouse his brother. But just as quickly, Vegard deflated, turning back to a new drawer. 

“Nothing. Never mind.” Bård couldn’t hold back anymore. Suddenly his words from earlier seemed justified. If his brother was allowed to provoke him, then Bård was damn well allowed to react. 

“You know what? I stand by what I said earlier.” Bård moved to hover over Vegard. His brother didn’t even glance up. “You are selfish.” Vegard opened a new drawer to the right of the others. “You don’t give a shit about—” 

“Ah! Here we are. Exactly what I was looking for.” Vegard clutched a small screwdriver in his right hand. He rose and started for the bedroom. Bård was losing him. 

“Give me that fucking thing.” Bård grabbed for it, but his brother was quicker. He was sober after all, and Bård was well aware of the influence alcohol was having on his actions.     

Vegard pulled back reactively, looking his brother square in the eyes. The pair had stopped in the middle of the hall. Vegard kept looking, and Bård broke the gaze for a split second in respite. It was enough time for Vegard to turn around again. 

Bård wouldn’t let him get away. Not now. Whatever it took. He grabbed at his hand again for the screwdriver. 

“Stop trying to get away from me,” Bård huffed. Vegard turned to him, making Bård stop short.

“Is that what you think this is about? God, you’re so self-centered, always think it’s fucking about you.” 

“Then what is it about? What are we even talking about anymore?” 

“Nothing. We’re not talking. Go to bed.” Vegard turned around toward the bedroom. 

“No.” Bård grabbed his arm again, Vegard wrenching it out of his grasp just as quick. 

“Fine, do whatever. Just leave me alone.” 

“No.” As Vegard reached the room Bård snaked his way under his brother’s arm and stood in the doorframe. Vegard sighed heavily. It reminded Bård of a million other fights they’d had in the past, except none of those ever mattered. Tonight it mattered. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Vegard raised his voice. 

“I don’t care.” Bård remained obstinate, blocking his brother’s path with his larger frame. Vegard stayed still for several seconds, then attempted to dart past him. Bård caught him, and pushed him back into the hall. 

“Stop it, Bård, you’re acting like a child,” Vegard scolded.

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Vegard heaved a sigh and turned on his heels back to the kitchen. 

Bård chased him again, grabbing at the screwdriver in his hand from behind. Vegard resisted, holding onto the tool with all his might. 

“Stop it!” Vegard hissed. The two struggled further into the kitchen, Bård bumping his hip hard on a counter. 

Vegard was comfortable letting his brother win in matters of strength on normal occasions, willing to let his little brother save face. But when it really mattered, he equaled and challenged Bård with what he could do. Bård was able to position himself behind his brother, grabbing at the screwdriver that he now held close to his chest. 

Bård backed them into the sink, twisting his brother’s grip sideways in an unnatural way. The point of the tool had turned, now facing the two like a dagger. In one final effort, Bård pulled the tool sideways, and ripped it across his brother’s arm. He could feel the flesh tearing underneath it as Vegard cried out. 

Bård released the screwdriver, and it clattered to the tiled floor. He backed out from behind his brother, and glimpsed his bloodied arm. Vegard hissed and scrunched his eyes, gasping in pain. He clutched his arm with his hand as blood oozed from underneath. For a moment, just a split second of unreality, Bård saw his brother in uniform, clutching his arm just the same way. The image was gone as soon as it had appeared to him, and knocked the breath from his entire body.   

“Shit. I’m sorry. Fuck. Oh no, fuck fuck. I’m sorry. Oh god.” 

Bård stumbled back, vision blurring, landing hard against the kitchen island. It was like the room had no air anymore. He gasped like a fish until his legs went weak under him. His back slid down the island, catching his brother’s attention. 

“Bård?” He could barely hear his brother calling him. It was like there was a cloud around his head, a humming in his ears that wouldn’t stop. “Shit, Bård, are you okay?” 

Vegard knelt down in front of his brother, trying to look at his eyes. 

“What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.” Vegard lowered his voice this time, and it somehow penetrated the fog surrounding Bård’s senses, maybe even clearing it. 

Bård knew the feeling, knew exactly what was happening to him. It was embarrassing, and irrational, but those were the tenets of panic attacks anyway. He thought that Vegard should know what was wrong with Bård too, but the concern on his face said that either he didn’t know, or didn’t care, as he ran his hands over and over Bård’s arms at a reassuring pace. His face looked worried, from what Bård could tell from the corners of his eyes that were locked down somewhere around Vegard’s heart. 

Slowly Bård’s breathing began to even out, and Vegard remained fixed, constant, leaning over his brother as his own face drew closer and closer until their foreheads eventually knocked together. 

“You’re okay, you’re fine.” 

“But you’re not fine,” Bård whispered. 

“Yes I am, it barely broke the skin.” Bård looked to his brother’s arm to see the blood seeping down in slow, thick drops. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that.” Vegard pulled away and sat against the island beside his brother. A breath of relief escaped him, and Bård did his best not to look over. 

Constant. It was the very word that Vegard was. He always acted, reacted, and did the same things. Loved the same things. He was there, always. When Bård felt like a man lost at sea, which he would never admit, but was often, Vegard was the North Star pointing him home every single time. Without fail, and without hesitation. 

The countdown went on in Bård’s head. Now 9 hours and 26 minutes until whatever happened would happen. He wondered what would happen if the North Star fell out of the sky—if just a few wanderers would have a hard time getting home, or if the world’s entire orbit would collapse, and go careening into space without a stop.


	6. Chapter 6

Bård finished pouring his brother his third shot, reparations for his piss-poor behavior over the past 24 hours. 

Vegard had resisted at first, saying he didn’t need a hangover the first day on the job. However, they quickly accepted that there was no way they could be outside of each other’s company in the time they had left, and Vegard willingly accepted the assistance of alcohol for the long night ahead. 

Bård traced his fingers along the bandage on his brother’s arm. Blood was staining the white fabric, and Vegard peered at his arm from the awkward angle, smiling. 

“Shit, that’s going to leave a scar, isn’t it?” Bård sounded genuinely concerned, to which Vegard just chuckled. 

“It’s fine. It’ll give me something to remember you by.” He knew Vegard didn’t mean for them to, but his brother’s words dampened him. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about Helene and all that.” 

“Ah, well. You have to do what you have to do. She knows that, I know that, it’s just…well, it’s pretty fucking terrible timing isn’t it?” Vegard contemplated the rim of his glass as he spoke. Bård nodded, unsure of what else to add. But while he was apologizing, he reasoned he might as well absolve all the guilt he had racked up that day. 

“And I’m sorry about earlier. And for not answering your calls. And generally being a little shit.” 

“Okay, okay, enough. You need to stop being so nice to me, it’s freaking me out.” 

“Oh I’m sorry, heaven forbid I’m actually nice to you.” 

“Stop, you know what I mean. Everyone is treating me like a fucking cancer patient and it’s awful.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Oh that’s right, you stormed out before Mom and Dad said goodbye.” Bård wondered if he was supposed to apologize again, but figured his outburst earlier was payment enough and simply waited for his brother to continue. Vegard set his glass down on the counter with a clink and rose from his stool. He started for the guest room and Bård followed like he always did. “Basically they were a mess. Just fucking terrible about it.” 

“In what way?” 

“They acted like I was already dead. Like I’d already been shot on a battlefield and they were just saying goodbye to my ghost or something.” Vegard had taken off his shoes and laid back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. 

“That’s stupid of them, you’re going to be fine.” Bård sat on the other side of the bed, swinging his legs up and assuming the same position. 

“This war has been going on for four months and there are already a million combined civilian and military casualties, you know. That’s twice as quick as the WWII casualty rate.” 

“You’re not going to get killed.” Bård felt his brother’s eyes on him, but didn’t look at him back. He kept his eyes on the ceiling until his brother rested his head on the bed and did the same. 

“Maybe, maybe not.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t get that lucky. When you’re away I’m going to get super famous, bigger than The Fox famous, and then you’ll come back as the fucking ‘war hero’ and try to weasel your way into my spotlight. Fucking leech.” Vegard laughed heartily. He didn’t know why his brother tolerated or even liked jokes like that. If it were reversed, Bård would have punched him in earnest. But Bård always had the fragile ego, and Vegard took it all in stride. Things like this reminded him of where the true strength in the pair lied. Not in who could throw the worst punches, but who could take them and walk away unbeaten. 

“Yeah, but you’re right. I don’t even know why I said that; if I’m being honest that’s not actually what scares me. It’s sort of delusional but I really do believe I’m going to come home. It just seems like a certainty.”  The statement was laden with a hint, a tease at something Vegard wanted to say. Bård wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to be asked about it though. You could never really tell with Vegard if he actually wanted to tell you something, or if he wanted you to infer it psychically. Vegard seemed to sense Bård’s internal debate and answered the question before he could ask. “Ask me what you think I’m most afraid of.” 

Vegard always quizzed him like this, usually never expecting Bård to know the answers. Whether it was about planes, useless information he’d picked up somewhere, something vital they needed to accomplish at work, anything—he supposed it was the only real way he could talk to him about something so personal, in a clinical and detached manner. Under different circumstances it would have annoyed Bård, and he would have rolled his eyes, sighing until his brother gave in and told him the answer, but the familiarity of quizzing eased the anxiety he felt about his older brother having fears at all. 

“Um, the battlefield?” 

“No.” 

“You said it’s not being killed, right?”

“Uh huh.” 

“Killing someone else?” 

“Well, that’s pretty bad, but not what I was going to say.” 

“Afraid of accidentally shooting yourself in—“ 

“Afraid of coming back and it not being the same anymore. Coming home but never really coming back, you know…” he gestured to his head. “In here, or whatever.” 

Bård didn’t know what to do with that information. He was supposed to be the one who was good with these things, adept with emotions and consoling people—but it all failed him. His brother who he dreaded so much to leave feared the thought of coming back. It was something Bård hadn’t thought of before. His brother could leave tomorrow and return someone completely different. After tomorrow, he could always be gone. He remembered what Vegard had just said though, about everyone pitying him, and decided humor was the only route he could take. 

“I don’t know, you’re already pretty fucking crazy, there’s not much else they could do to fuck you up.” 

Vegard snickered, and Bård flashed him a reassuring smile. They stared up at the ceiling, both not knowing what to say, but wanting to speak more—to never stop speaking to each other, just in case. Then, the perfect idea struck Bård.     

“You could fly, you know.” 

“Well I’m not going to _walk_ to Russia.” 

“Shut up, I’m serious.” Bård sat up on his elbows. “You’re a pilot for fuck’s sake. They should use you.” 

“It’s not the same thing.” Vegard also sat up on his elbows, staring his brother down with that all too familiar condescending expression. “There’s a big difference between the tiny little LN-FAG I fly and a fighter jet.” 

“You could learn.” 

“Why would the army bother to teach me how to fly a fighter jet when they already have professionals who do that?” 

“Because you’re famous. You can get special treatment.” 

“Why are you trying to pull that card all of a sudden? That means nothing in the real world, and it _really_ means nothing in the army. If anything, they give me a harder time because of it.” 

“You could at least ask.” 

“I’m not going to ask.” Vegard spoke defiantly. 

“Why? Flying is your favorite thing in the world. It’s worth a try isn’t it? It’ll be a hell of a lot better than being on the ground, what the planes are firing _at_.” His temper was showing, and they both took note of the change of temperature between them. 

The gravity of Bård’s desperation hit him in that moment. For all his pacifism, there he was insisting his brother should be the one raining death down on innocent strangers—as long as he was the one safe in the air. 

Vegard just rolled his eyes and huffed a breath in dismissal. He turned his gaze back to the ceiling, his eyes looking far off. 

“God, you should have come with me last week. It was the perfect day to fly. The sky was incredible.” 

“I wanted to, I just…” He could have easily gone. Bård remembered looking at the sky through his windshield, thinking of what life was going to be like when his brother was gone. Learning to be without him was important, something he needed to get used to. Looking back, he knew he made the wrong choice. “…I just couldn’t.” 

Vegard nodded absently. Fiddling with a curly lock, he sat up quickly. 

“Look, I’ll promise to try and fly if you promise me something.” Bård’s interest was piqued. He stared back at his brother expectantly. He looked unsure of how to phrase it, but went ahead anyway. “I’ll fly if you promise to do the show without me.” 

“What?” Bård was stunned. 

“You heard me.” 

“You’re an idiot, why would I do that?” 

“Because you want to.” 

“No I don’t.” 

“Yes you do, you always have.” 

“Shut up, you know I’m not serious when I say that.” 

“Yes you are, at least a little. Don’t even lie to me.” Bård rolled his eyes. No, he wouldn’t lie to his brother. All of his jokes were the release for a buried anxiety he held. Performing alone was always something he wanted, but was far too afraid to attempt. It was easy to blame his big brother for holding him back, when really it was always himself. He’d never done anything in show business without his brother, not really. He wondered if alone, if there was really much to him. If there was no one to bark at and belittle, what was there? Struggling for excuses, he took a technical route. 

“The contract is for both of us, TV Norge wouldn’t want that anyway.” 

“Of course they do. I was in that meeting too, I saw the way they were looking at you, like they were just waiting for me to leave the room to pounce on you with an offer.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Whatever, that’s my deal, take it or leave it.” Bård looked away. He should be happy his brother was willing to let him go. He wasn’t. 

“Why would you want me to do the show without you? That’s so fucked up.” Vegard sighed, bringing his hand to his brow in frustration—or maybe it was embarrassment. Bård was having a hard time understanding exactly what his brother was trying to say to him. 

“I mean, no, of course I don’t want you to do the show without me. I would kill to stay and do the show. But I can’t. None of this is ideal. I’m not going to stop you from doing a great fucking show just because I won’t be there. You’re a better performer anyway.” Bård began to object. “Shut up, take the compliment, it’s true. I’m better at the music maybe, but you’ve got that extra something. I’m not going to hold you back.” Bård realized how difficult it was for his brother to say those things. With Vegard, everything was cryptic, a cypher that needed to be solved to get at even the faintest sincerity. But here he was telling him he was great. It was a massive gesture, and one he didn’t want to insult. He could lie now—once he was gone he could be honorable.     

“I’m going to look like such a jerk,” Bård muttered. Vegard smiled. 

“So you’ll promise?” 

Bård hesitated. What if this was the last lie he told his brother? What if he would never be held accountable for the words he was about to say? 

“Only if you do.” 

“Okay.” Vegard was quick with his response. 

“Okay, good.” Relief washed over Bård. Even if the army gave him a hard time for it, Vegard said he would at least try. Then maybe he would be just that much safer, just that much more likely to come back. A changed man or not, a world without his brother was one Bård didn’t want to live in. 

 

* * *

 

After an hour or so of reminiscing and subtle digs at each other’s character, the two decided they needed to sleep. As Vegard put it, he wouldn’t be sleeping in a proper bed for god knows how long, and he’d like to get to it while he can, thank you very much.   

Bård brushed his teeth in front of the sink in the downstairs bathroom. His hair was getting long and strands stuck onto his wet open lips, getting sticky from toothpaste. He took out a hair tie from a drawer and pulled his hair back into a ponytail. 

Vegard walked into the bathroom, stripped down to his boxers and a shirt just like his brother. He glanced at Bård’s hair and walked up to the sink with his toothbrush. 

“Very pretty.” Bård responded by shoving his brother with a noncommittal grunt. Vegard chuckled. “Really, you should try some braids next time.” Bård spit into the sink and shoved his brother again, his smile coated with toothpaste. “Why do you keep hitting me?” Vegard asked through a fit of giggles. 

“Because.” Bård shoved him again. Vegard rebounded off the wall and laughed even harder. 

“Stop.” Vegard shoved back in retaliation. So did Bård. The two pushed back and forth, until Vegard got an arm around Bård’s neck, and began pulling him to the floor. Their laughter increasing, Bård resisted and shoved up into his brother with all his strength. Vegard stumbled backward into the counter, his arm flying back and knocking a glass vase to the floor. They both stilled and went quiet for several seconds, until the silence was broken by simultaneous laughter. 

“Look at you, worst house guest ever,” Bård said, standing up straight and controlling the smile on his face. 

“Me?” Vegard stifled his laughter with mock-disbelief. 

“Clean it up.” Bård crossed his arms and put on an authoritarian stance. His creeping grin betrayed him. 

“I’m not cleaning it up, you pushed me.” 

“My house, my rules,” Bård taunted. 

“Oh really?” Vegard took a step forward. Bård nodded, biting his lip to stifle his laughter. Vegard lurched at his brother, making Bård flinch and recoil with a boyish giggle. Vegard smacked Bård’s shoulder as he walked out of the bathroom, and picked up his toothbrush, a subtle smile playing on his lips. 

“Fucking little brothers.” 

Bård walked, heavy-footed and sleepy to the guest bedroom. He flung his body on the right side of the wide bed over the covers. He felt his entire weight sink into the mattress, and exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. Maybe days. Maybe a month. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of the enclosing loneliness that loomed upon him. Except trying to think it away only made him think of it more. He scrunched his eyes, holding like that until he forgot to from exhaustion. 

Vegard entered the guest bedroom not long after. Bård could hear him walk through the threshold and stop short when he saw him lying there. Then, hesitant, soft steps approached the bed before the weight of his brother rested down on it. Bård peeked from under his eyelids at his brother who sat upright, facing the other way. Vegard sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. Bård thought maybe to say something, but Vegard turned around quickly and he shut his eyes again to feign sleep. 

He felt Vegard pull back the covers and slip his legs underneath. He felt him lean over and turn off the light, then rest down on the bed, facing him. 

“Bård.” His voice was small, but urgent. He knew he was awake. And Bård knew he knew he was awake, but couldn’t bring himself to look at him just yet. He hummed in response. “Bård I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

His eyes opened. Vegard wasn’t looking at him—not in the eyes, more at the space on the bed between them. Bård turned his body to mirror his brother’s. He resettled his head on his pillow and looked at his brother, waiting. He knew there were things he wanted to say. He couldn’t speak them, but if he got Vegard to look at his eyes, it would all be said. 

Vegard granted Bård’s silent request, and locked onto his blue gaze. His body began to shake with each rise and fall of his breath, and Bård reached his arm toward him, not touching. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry I can’t—I can’t. I’m so sorry Bård.” Vegard sputtered his words, eyes wide and panicked. 

Bård’s pulse rose, and he grabbed onto Vegard’s forearm that lay on the bed—tight. His panic response was setting in and securing Vegard’s well being was the same as securing his own. It always had been. 

“Hey.” He shook Vegard’s arm. His brother’s eyes were trained on the bed, mouth shut tight and breathing ragged. “Stop. Hey.” His voice faltered on the last hey, but Vegard ignored it. 

“I’m leaving,” said Vegard, in the most even voice he could manage. 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Yes I am, Bård, okay?” Vegard raised his voice, and his hopelessness struck Bård like a dagger. “You said it yourself, earlier. There’s nothing I can do, there’s nothing you can do; denying it only makes it worse. I can’t—” 

“Stop! Listen to me.” Bård gripped his shoulder, Vegard’s eyes cast down. Bård moved his hand to his neck, forcing his gaze to his own. “You can let me go, but I won’t. Do you understand?” He whispered his fervent words. “I don’t care if you have to go—you’re with me. You’re always. With me.” Bård’s eyes looked away. It was more than he could handle. “And—and I hope I’m with you, too.” 

Vegard nodded as Bård brought him in tight. He could feel wetness dabbing his own neck from his brother’s cheek, and pulled him in closer. Suddenly they were kids again. Sharing a bed on a night full of war—fearing the world and finding solace in each other’s embrace. He could never remember being able to tear himself away from his brother’s grasp because he never tried. Not even now, when the things they feared weren’t right outside their door but instead thousands of miles away. And maybe that was what was more frightening. Not the danger, but the inescapable distance from shelter. The shelter of his brother’s arms that he was born into the world knowing and would have to die without.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I just wanted to let you know that I made a playlist to accompany this fic- it's good to listen to while reading it, sets the tone well :) Can be found at 8tracks.com/hansvlitz/deployed

The one thing Bård didn’t account for was that if he stopped his brother from fixing the alarm clock, there wasn’t going to be anything to wake them up. So when his eyes fluttered open to daylight and frantic rustling from the other side of the room, Bård was startled to say the least.

He sat up quickly, watching his brother shove clothes and bags into his suitcase. 

“Fuck, what time is it?” His voice rasped, just loud enough to call Vegard’s attention. 

“It’s 9:30. We are so, so late.” He grabbed two shirts off the floor and stuffed them into an already full duffel. 

“Shit.” Bård sat up fully, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. Vegard had ceased his motions, standing over his splayed open bags. He raised a hand to his forehead, face down, and shuddered a sigh. 

“Fucking hell.” It was like Bård could see the distress brimming, so close to bubbling over inside his brother. 

“Hey, hey calm down. Go see your kids, I’ll pack your stuff up for you.” 

It wasn’t normally the kind of thing Bård would offer. He avoided all forms of labor that weren’t directly related to his actual work when possible. However the desperation in Vegard’s voice, the very way he took no care in packing his things, just shoving them in, meant that his brother was extremely upset, and it was the least Bård could do. Vegard seemed suspicious of the gesture, or perhaps untrusting that he could do it properly.  He hesitated before responding as if in warning. 

“I have two duffels that need to be—” 

“That’s fine, I’ve got it. Go on.” 

“Okay. Thanks.” He patted his pockets, stalling. Bård coughed, knocking his brother into action. Vegard nodded and stepped into the hall. 

Bård looked at the mess of bags and clothes before him. Here he was, the least forward-thinking member of the Ylvisåker family charged with determining what his brother would take with him for a whole year away from home. 

He did little to straighten out the heap, but managed to tidy the duffel enough to make room for the rest of his clothes and toiletry bags. He rocked back on his heels, satisfied with his task. As he slid his feet back to rise, his left foot knocked against something, pushing it underneath the bed. 

Bård heard the distinct sound of metal, and turned to blindly grab whatever it was. Pulling his arm out again, he found himself grasping an aged, square, tin box. It looked like it may have contained chocolate or some kind of food at some point, which couldn’t possibly be what it held anymore. He picked it up and shook it lightly next to his ear. He heard loose objects slide around minimally. He placed it on his lap and opened it with little difficulty. 

Looking into it he gathered that he had happened upon a keepsake box of sorts. There were a lot of photos, other printed things, and a few objects. Bård looked over his shoulder, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty and devious for even opening it at all. Yet, there was that nagging in his gut. Little siblings were supposed to look through their big brothers’ stuff anyway, weren’t they?  

He picked up the ring first; his wedding ring. Bård reasoned it would probably be safer in this box then anywhere on Vegard’s person. Next was a tiny toy airplane with a propeller on the front. He remembered when Vegard got it; they were young, maybe early teens for Vegard, and their Dad brought it back for him from a trip to Denmark. It was just some stupid little promotional thing that the airline gave out, but Vegard got so excited about it. Bård especially remembered making fun of him for being so interested in a toy at 14, which ended in a skinned elbow and a broken chair. 

There were photos from his wedding, pictures of their parents, his kids, some drawings from them too. A certificate for completing his pilot’s training, that had a flat gold medal stuck on it. There was a hand-written letter, which he recognized as Helene’s writing and put down quickly—it looked too embarrassing for even Bård’s curiosity. 

Underneath it he found a worn photograph. It showed Bård and his brother, very young. They were sitting in a tree, not looking at the camera. It was from Africa. Bård tried to remember the moment, but the photograph remained as foreign to him as if it were of someone else. Beneath that, a program from their very first show together, followed by polaroids from backstage. Their hair was cropped so short—god they both looked so stupid. But they were having fun, no doubt about it. Bård remembered being so fucking happy that night. Both of them got roaring drunk and Vegard stayed with him while he puked his brains out the next morning. Lightly consoling, but mostly scolding him for not being able to hold his liquor. 

As Bård kept digging through the box he saw his own face more and more. It was like a mini, non-chronological timeline of their life together. Pictures, notes, tickets, play bills. He reached the bottom and felt mild disappointment. He looked at his phone and realized he should probably start moving the bags—he was supposed to be helping Vegard get out of there on time after all. He shut the box, then paused when shoving it into the side of the suitcase. 

Bård rifled through the top drawer of the side table. He pulled out a pen and small pad of paper. He scribbled onto it, hand never stopping as he filled the small page as much as he could. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. As he looked at his watch, he heard footsteps in the hall. Looking over his shoulder, he etched one small addition to the bottom of the paper, then carefully placed it on the bottom of the stack of memorabilia in the tin. 

His wife called his name, knocking on the side of the open door as he zipped up the last suitcase. Together they dragged the bags out to the car, slamming the trunk shut on Vegard’s belongings without him ever checking twice. 

When they walked back into the house, Vegard’s daughter sat on the sofa, her face red, wet, and swollen as she wailed. She called for her father over and over even as he knelt directly in front of her, doing what little he could to comfort her. His son sat silent beside her, clearly not understanding what the great tragedy was. He heard Vegard make hushing noises beneath a ragged voice of his own. 

Bård stood stock still, not wanting to take another step. Maria felt his panic and turned to her husband, whispering for him to go to the car and wait; she would deal with this. He did as instructed, and sat in stuffy silence in the driveway for twenty long minutes. 

Eventually, his brother emerged from the house, got in the car, slammed the door shut. He leaned his head against the window, eyes shut tight from what Bård could see beneath his curls. His gaze didn’t linger long. It wasn’t anything he wanted to see. Without a word he pulled from the driveway and onto the damp road beyond. 

 

* * *

 

The closeness they shared the night before didn’t escape into the light of day. Every soft-spoken word of comfort was blanketed with the dawn, and the three-hour ride to the base went as normal as it could have. 

Vegard slept for the first hour, Bård listening to his breath huff in and out, all curled into himself. They stopped for gas, rousing Vegard from his rest and Bård almost laughed at the confused face he made upon waking. 

When Bård returned from the pump he found Vegard sitting in the drivers seat.

“I’m driving,” was the only explanation he offered. Bård huffed and walked around to the passenger side. As he went for the door handle Vegard pumped the gas pedal, pushing the car just a few feet forward. Bård stumbled and he could hear his brother’s laughter from inside the car. He swore and walked to the door again, only for his brother to fake him out once more. Finally Vegard relented and let him in the car. As annoyed as he was, hearing his brother laugh settled a calm in him that he hadn’t felt all morning.

They caught themselves making idle conversation, jokes, and forgetting where it was they were going. The two remaining hours passed so quickly for Bård that he had trouble remembering what was even said when he tried to piece it together on the ride home. 

Then they were there. Vegard showed his I.D. to a uniformed man at the gate and was directed to a parking lot and the “Departure” area. Bård hated the sound of it.

They parked in the graveled lot, crunched in between rows and rows of other cars. Vegard was just one of many that was plucked from his life and thrown into something else. It made Bård feel stupid for thinking he was so unique in his plight.

They unloaded the bags together and a young soldier approached them on the way up the hill to the reception area. He looked to be in his early twenties, and seemed eager to greet them. It became apparent that he knew exactly who they were, might have even been a fan, and offered to take a suitcase and a duffel up the hill for Vegard. He was reluctant, but would have felt worse to deny the poor kid, so he let him take them away. The brothers shared a laugh over it, standing awkwardly on the hill between spaces.

Families, children, wives, husbands and fathers passed them all on the slope; arms slung around each other savoring their last moments with loved ones. Some seemed ironically cheerful, others painfully distraught. The whole thing made Bård uncomfortable. Vegard turned toward the top of the hill and began walking. Bård couldn’t bring himself to follow.

“Hey, can we…” Bård started, but wasn’t exactly sure how to explain himself. He wondered if it made him a bad person to be repulsed by all the grief.

Vegard turned to him, and like always, read his mind with a single look. He walked back down to Bård and stopped in front of him. Bård noticed that they were finally the same height at this angle.

“Yeah, let’s not…” Vegard glanced back to the families congregated on top of the hill and made an uncomfortable face that mirrored Bård’s feelings.   

“Well…” This was it. This was ‘the goodbye.’ In his head Bård thought there would be some crescendo of feeling, an emotional peak that everything had led up to, ending in this moment where he would experience some sort of closure. Instead he just felt awkward and wanted to leave.

“Yeah, well. I guess I’ll be here for the next couple of days. Get settled in, figure out what I’ll actually be doing.”

“Right, yeah. Maybe you’ll get to do some practice shooting? Could be fun?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Vegard looked around, clearly as uncomfortable as his brother. They noticed a mother and son walk past them, he couldn’t be older than 18. “Jesus, I’m so old, I’m going to be the fucking grandpa of this place.” Bård laughed, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. His own were fixed on the center of his chest, and he focused on the sweater Vegard was wearing. Bård was very familiar with it; heather gray with a hood and buttons near the collar. It was warm as hell and reminded him of their tour during “The Fox” madness. He even liked it enough that he decided it deserved dual custody from both of them. If he was being truthful it looked better on Vegard, but it didn’t stop him from trying anyway.

“You know I’m going to be sad to see that sweater go.” Vegard looked down as if he hadn’t even realized he was wearing it himself.

“Here, take it.” Vegard started pulling it over his head.

“No, no, stop.” Bård felt somewhat embarrassed with his brother ripping off his clothes in public. He was only wearing a thin t-shirt underneath.

“Seriously, take it. I’m going to be in uniform most of the time anyway, it’ll be a waste.” Bård hesitated. “Just take it.” He held it out to his brother. Memories flooded; the constant give and take between the two, or to be more accurate, the take and take and take from Bård. Why break tradition now? Bård reached out and accepted his brother’s parting gift. He rubbed the material in his hands mindlessly. It was warm from Vegard’s body.

“Listen—” Vegard started. Bård’s head shot up. Maybe there was going to be a moment. He couldn’t decide if he wanted it or not. Vegard paused, seemingly deciding the same thing. “I’ll call you guys on Tuesday or Wednesday before I leave.” There wouldn’t be a moment. There wouldn’t be closure. Bård didn’t know why he ever thought there would be.

“Okay, sounds good.”

“Okay.” The awkward tension made Bård feel physically ill, and he knew social convention said this is where they should hug and he should let him go.

Bård stepped forward first and wrapped Vegard in a hug, not very tight. He could feel the stiffness from his brother but decided to hold on just seconds longer anyway. Marginally Vegard relaxed and his chin hit Bård’s shoulder. Bård’s stomach twisted and he needed to leave, get out of there, that instant. He patted his brother’s back and broke away. The moment he did he wished he hadn’t. Regret swarmed his senses and there was nothing to do but let go.

“Alright, get out of here, you’re late enough as it is.”

“Right.” Vegard picked up his duffel and began stepping back, still facing Bård. “If they give me shit, I’m blaming it on you.” Bård shook his head and flipped him off, turning around to walk down the hill. Vegard laughed and finally turned away himself. “Okay, bye Bård,” he called, turning his head over his shoulder. Bård looked back but kept walking.

“Take care.” Take care? That was it? That was the last thing he decided to say to his brother? Bård couldn’t bear to look back again and see his brother’s reaction. He didn’t want to know if he was overreacting or if Vegard too was offended by such an idiotic goodbye. His ears zeroed in on the fading crunch beneath Vegard’s feet as they walked away from one another. He held the sweater tight in his hand and felt it slowly go cold, losing the last traces of Vegard it held. The very last remnants left from his brother’s beating heart were carried away by the open air, and Bård couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

His brother gave him a sweater, and he gave him a scar. That was the way it had always been, really. In his quiet way, Vegard gave whatever comfort he could, while Bård did everything in his power to mark his brother permanently. It was the only way they knew how to love each other—subtly, and without words.

Bård realized he had forgotten about the countdown. The loss he was caught up in was bigger than the little thoughts he put together to keep rationality, to keep track—that was more Vegard’s thing anyway. He drove from the base without really knowing he was doing it, thoughts only focused on what exactly had just happened and why he felt so distinctly numb.

He supposed that what he was feeling was “shock”—lack of reaction, response, to a traumatic experience. Maybe it wasn’t traumatic. He didn’t think it should be; his brother was just three hours away, and would be for the next two days. He drove the first hour remembering this, reciting it over and over in his head in an almost manic way.

Slowly, the mantra began to change.

 

_He’s only three hours away._

_He’s only three hours away._

_He’s only three hours away at the base._

_He’s only three hours away at the base until Wednesday._

_He’s only three hours away at the base until Wednesday, and then he goes to Russia._

_He’s only three hours away at the base until Wednesday, and then he goes to Russia for a year._

_He’s only three hours away at the base until Wednesday, and then he goes to Russia for a year—as long as nothing happens to him before then._

_He’s only three hours away at the base until Wednesday, and then he goes to Russia for a year—as long as nothing happens to him before then, like getting blown up._

 

Two hours in he pulled over on the side of the highway. 

Bård’s breathing picked up, and he felt like he was on the brink of something. He sat listening to the cars zoom by, the distinct nothing that was occurring. His eyes wandered to the passenger seat, where his brother’s sweater laid crumpled in a heap. He reached for it, bringing it into his lap. He played with the drawstring between his fingers, traced the outline of the buttons at the collar. Then he was hurriedly pulling it over his head, releasing a withheld sigh once it was on.

He tugged the sleeves to cover his palms, and breathed in the scent at the cuffs. There his brother was, still with him in some small way on the side of the road. He leaned his head on the steering wheel, crossed arms covering his nose as he breathed in all he could of his brother. His chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, eyes painfully open. He willed himself to cry, to release his emotion in some physical way that maybe his pain could be removed from his body. Panic and anguish filled him, running from his ears to his fingertips to his toes—no tears came. Instead his body seemed keen to be a vessel for this pain, keeping a cork on top as he boiled within.

Idly he realized that the longer he wore the sweater, the more he would replace Vegard’s scent with his own. It was too late. From now on everything would always be too late.

Fury. He slammed his fist onto the steering wheel once, twice, again, again, until he lost count. He didn’t know whether he was trying to hurt himself or something else, but it didn’t really matter. Release wouldn’t come, and aggression was always his fondest ally in moments of ill ease.

His fist slid too far down on the wheel, and he found himself honking the car’s horn loud and long. From the corners of his eyes he saw a few cars on the highway slow, and without looking up he released the pressure on the wheel.

The futility of waiting, driving, crying, waking, breathing, anything and everything was so apparent to him in his solitude. He wouldn’t use the word reckless, but Bård was anything but careful as he pulled back onto the highway, pressing his foot farther and farther to the floor.

 

* * *

 

Bård entered his home quietly. He didn’t want attention or reassurance; he just wanted to forget the entire afternoon. He crept into the living room, watching the television from behind the couch where his wife sat. It was on one of the news channels, and showed footage of fire, crumbled buildings, and people running in all directions.

“What are you watching?” Bård asked. Startled, his wife whipped her head around and just as quickly reached for the remote to turn off the tv.

“Hi, I didn’t know you were home.”

“Why did you turn it off?”

“Oh, nothing. It was just getting boring. Same old stuff, fighting, you know…” she trailed off. Bård hummed in response. He didn’t know whether he loved her or resented her for trying to spare him. “Do you want to eat? I’m about to start making dinner for the kids.”

“No, I’m not really hungry.”

“Okay, well if you change your mind, I’m making pasta.”

“Thanks.” His words were hollow, and he knew she heard it too. For the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care about hiding how he felt. He left her in the living room, climbing the stairs to their bedroom.

He walked in and kicked off his shoes. The curtains were drawn, and the gray light seemed uncomfortably fitting. He flopped his body face first onto the bed, feet hanging over the edge. He realized how tired he really was—emotionally exhausted at least. It took more effort than he realized to control every bodily notion that built inside, that urged him to break down. There was a war going on inside him, and perhaps in that way him and Vegard were still in the same place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering which sweater I was talking about it was this one...
> 
> Vegard wears it here: http://ylvisgull.tumblr.com/post/71126564509/mad-fer-itt-x-omg-this-video  
> Bård wears it here: http://ylvisgull.tumblr.com/post/70669270283/vxgard-ylvis-backstage-the-big-jingle
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm going to be busy/out of town for the next week or so but I'll try to update if I can.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited update! This chapter was the hardest to write and turned out to be the longest yet. Some parts of their timeline in the late 90s-early 2000s get a little foggy here, but it's fiction, so please excuse me if things aren't completely accurate. Enjoy and comment to let me know if this wasn't depressing enough for your taste ;)

Bård woke up several times that night, stringing together half-formed proclamations of sadness and the divine unfairness of the ungodly universe. They sounded right, felt good. He recited them a few times in an attempt to commit them to memory, before he was periodically pulled into the black of sleep again. That is, until his jagged dreams always woke him to the same damning conclusion.

When he woke up, _really_ woke up, it was early. His head was heavy and his vision clouded. His phone said 5 AM, which meant he had slept for roughly 13 hours. He stretched his limbs that ached from over-rest, and traveled downstairs to the kitchen. He contemplated breakfast of some kind, but was distracted by the rising sun on the horizon. He walked through his house onto the wrap-around balcony, closing the sliding door gently behind him. He sidled up to the railing, looking out into the morning. God he was being sentimental, he knew it, but he felt his state of mind warranted it. 

He tried in vain to remember some of the choice quotes from his sleep-addled mind he concocted the night before. The more he struggled, the more frustrated he became with his “woe is me” statements altogether. He wondered what the fuck he was doing standing out on his balcony at 5 AM in 4º, weather wearing only a t-shirt and sweats. There was a time and place to pity himself, and it was yesterday at the base camp—not the next morning at home with his family. He was lucky enough to have wealth, success, health, and wonderful people around him, and there he was staring into the sun like he was some kind of wounded animal. Fuck this, he thought. He strode back into his house and grabbed his laptop from the kitchen counter. There were emails he had to reply to, papers he had to look over, plenty of things to occupy his time in a useful manner. The world didn’t stop just because his brother wasn’t stuck to him like a tumor anymore, and Bård was frankly quite finished entertaining his own pathetic behavior. He cleaned out his inbox quicker than he thought was humanly possible, and wondered if grief was the hidden key to efficiency that he had been missing his entire life. 

 

* * *

 

When the rest of the house woke up, he realized he hadn’t really interacted with them in 2 days. His wife busied herself with making breakfast for the kids as usual; making sure everyone was up on time for school. She seemed to notice the change in her husband’s behavior but was careful not to comment on it. He knew her as well as she knew him and he could recognize when she was tiptoeing. But it didn’t matter. Today was a normal Tuesday and he was going to sit down at the table for breakfast with his family and act like it.   

If anything, he was in a better mood than he normally was. Every small moment of humor was elevated, and when his kids came to the table he made a point to tease and give them a hard time like he’d always done. He even went so far as to start tickling his middle daughter mercilessly when two new children entered the room. 

He didn’t mean to, and wasn’t even quite sure why, but seeing his niece and nephew cropped his laughter and made him return to his seat, staring at his glass. He could see from the corner of his eye the girl walking toward him steadily. He thought maybe if he didn’t look at her she would walk past and sit down, but she came right up and hugged his seated form. 

“Hi Uncle Bård!” He tentatively put an arm around her shoulder as she clung on, unsure why he felt so uncomfortable. His hand patted her curly locks that fell down her back, just like her father’s. He pulled his hand away and she understood his dismissive gesture. 

Maria came around, placing plates of waffles in front of each Ylvisåker young and old. The children dug in, with perhaps less manners than they should have. Bård realized quite quickly he didn’t have an appetite. He took a tentative bite anyway, syrup dripping from his fork as he shoved it in. The taste was rich, sweet, and revolting. 

“Bård, can you cut that up for him?”

He looked to his wife in the kitchen, swallowing his disgusted expression. 

“What?” 

“Cut up his waffle for him. He’s going to hurt himself like that.” She motioned with a wooden spoon to Vegard’s son, who was stabbing his waffle in the center and scratching into the plate below with the knife. He wondered how he hadn’t heard the screeching sound it made sooner. 

“Oh, right.” He made eye contact with the boy for just a moment, staring into his big vacant eyes. “Sure.” Bård gave him a pinched smile and went to work hastily cutting up the thing. He could see him still staring at his face, never looking away, and it unnerved Bård enough that his knife slipped knocking his elbow into the chair beside him.   

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Bård turned to his right to see his niece peering over at his work with the most disapproving face a seven year old could manage. 

“Huh?” 

“That’s not how you do it. Daddy does it like a square first and then cuts the middle. He won’t eat it like that.” Bård turned his furrowed brow from his niece to his nephew, who looked back at him blankly like he hadn’t registered a single thing that had been said. 

“Here, you can do it for him.” He placed the fork and knife on the table in front of his niece, who stared at them for a few seconds, caught off guard. Then as if in sheer delight, she grabbed them up and went to work on her brother’s plate. Bård rose and started down the hall to his office. 

“Where are you going?” His niece called after him, momentarily distracted from her task. 

“Just, uh, got to make a phone call.” He strode out of the room, trying to block out the piercing sound of a knife scratching back and forth against a plate that echoed from behind. 

 

* * *

 

> Bård sat on his freshly made bed, chewing a fingernail as he stared into the space of his room. The whole thing was spotless, vacuumed, and organized. For those who knew Bård best, this was a clear indicator that something was not right. Bård only felt compelled to clean in times of deep stress or unease, but luckily for him his parents hadn’t bothered with him all day to notice or even ask him what he had been doing in there. Only ten minutes earlier had he opened his door upon hearing the phone ring through the house. His mother picked up, and just like they said it would be, it was Vegard calling.
> 
> For the first time since birth, Bård knew next to nothing about what was happening in his brother’s life. It was strange, and more unsettling than he thought it ought to be. Vegard had left to do his military service two months prior and they hadn’t really spoken since. It had been at least three weeks since he had thrown a ‘hey’ over the speakerphone as he was running out the door and walked past their parents' phone conversation. That morning he overheard his mother telling their Dad that Vegard would be calling the house sometime in the evening, and Bård knew he needed to be there for that call. He hadn’t really decided if he was going to say anything or even actually talk to him, but for reasons unknown to Bård he felt he absolutely needed to be present for the conversation, or to at least hear it. And so, he sat there on his bed, in his immaculate room, listening to the muffled voices of his parents and brother that carried from the living room.
> 
> He heard his own name and his ears perked up. His mother was saying something about Bård’s school, and he barely caught his brother’s voice asking, ‘How is Bård?’ His mother offered to let him ask himself, which seemed to catch Vegard off guard. Next there were the distinct footsteps of his father approaching his bedroom, and before he could think, his door was pushed open further and his father was in the doorway. He tossed the phone at Bård, telling him it was Vegard.
> 
> Bård looked down at the phone, hesitant to put it to his ear. Just as quickly he felt foolish for waiting and spoke into the mouthpiece. 
> 
> “Hello?” 
> 
> “Hey Bård.” He was cheery. That was good. But annoying. Why was it annoying?
> 
> “Hi…” He tried to decide whether he wanted to rush the call and scratch his entire day of preparation for this moment. Why had he been so eager to hear his brother’s voice in the first place? 
> 
> “What? What’s wrong?” Nothing got past Vegard. Once again, he found himself annoyed at his brother, even though he didn’t do anything. 
> 
> “Nothing.” 
> 
> “Are you busy or something?” Vegard’s tone held the slightest hint of hurt and Bård reacted without thought. 
> 
> “No.” Guilt surged through him; his brother had been gone for two months, the least he could do was give him the time of day. That was the whole plan anyway. He vaguely remembered how much he wanted to know, needed to know, about what exactly his brother was doing. He felt so in the dark, but how to go about finding the light? “No, I’m—I’m not busy. What are you doing?” 
> 
> “I should be asking you. It’s a Friday night, why aren’t you out doing something fun? You’re not grounded are you?” 
> 
> “No. I was going to go out with Maria and our friends tonight, but she got sick this morning.” Lie. Bård just wanted to talk to him. He _really_ wanted to talk to him. But with brothers, you couldn’t just say you wanted to talk because you sort of missed them a lot—you couldn’t be obvious about it. Bård couldn’t anyway. So if he told Maria he couldn’t go out that night because _he_ got sick that morning, it was out of total necessity. 
> 
> “Well why didn’t you just go out with your friends by yourself?” Vegard asked. Bård hadn’t accounted for that. 
> 
> “I just didn’t. What’s it to you?” 
> 
> “Nothing, stand down. My gosh.” Too much overcompensation. Bård was usually good at lying; he wondered why it suddenly felt so nerve-wracking. “You’re getting pretty serious with this girl, aren’t you?” Vegard’s tone turned condescending and Bård felt his irritation rising again. 
> 
> “We’ve been serious, always have been. What do you mean?” He had an idea what he meant, and he was right too. In the two months his brother was gone he’d never felt closer to his girlfriend, or closer to anyone really. Well, almost anyone. 
> 
> “Well, you were much younger when you two started out. And she’s older than you, we just thought…”
> 
> “Thought what?” Bård hadn’t planned to be on the defensive during this phone call. Frankly he wasn’t even sure why he was, but every prying question of Vegard’s felt like a serious diversion from where he wanted the conversation to go—even though he didn’t really know where that was. 
> 
> “Teenage love doesn’t usually last, Bård. We just thought you would’ve broken up by now.”
> 
> “What the fuck, Vegard. I thought you liked Maria.” 
> 
> “I do, I like her a lot. If you’re asking me I think she’s way too good for you. I thought she would have dumped you after the first month.” Bård couldn’t restrain his scoff. 
> 
> “Wow, thanks. This is coming from the girlfriend-less 20 year old.” 
> 
> “Oh, whatever. And I’m almost 21, by the way.” Vegard really wasn’t helping his case, Bård thought. 
> 
> “Seriously, it’s pretty pathetic Vegard. You need to step up your game.” 
> 
> “What if I don’t want a girlfriend?” 
> 
> “Um, are you trying to tell me something?” 
> 
> “No, idiot. I just mean I don’t really want to get attached to anyone.”
> 
> “You don’t _have_ to get attached, but if it does happen, it’s not all bad is what I’m saying.” 
> 
> “Wow, what a romantic. ‘Love: it’s not totally awful.’ Thanks Bård, great advice. Is it charming lines like those that keep Maria around?” Bård had to laugh, and Bård laughing made Vegard laugh. All uneasiness Bård felt was gone, and the comfortable way they dug into each other stirred a unique happiness inside him. The laughter subsided and Bård was eager to continue the banter.
> 
> “You’re missing out,” Bård said as his chuckles died out. 
> 
> “I’m in the army, there are no girls here.” 
> 
> “That’s not an excuse. You had your whole life before these 2 months to get a girlfriend, and you failed spectacularly. But now that I know you’re not even trying, I see how sad your situation really is.” Now it was Vegard’s turn to scoff.
> 
> “I’ve got enough on my hands. Besides, I’ll never have time for a girlfriend as long as I’m busy taking care of you.” 
> 
> “Taking care of me? I’m an adult now if you forgot.” Vegard had missed Bård’s birthday after all. It wasn’t really a big deal, but it was the first time it’d ever happened. He was surprised to wake up late in the afternoon, his parents letting him sleep in as a treat. Normally Vegard would pounce on him at the crack of dawn, the exact time he was born, ripping off the covers and scream-singing happy birthday into his ear. It was awful, and he always swore he was going to murder his brother if he ever did it again, but for the first time without it he felt very different. For the first time on his birthday he felt older, like he had actually grown up. 
> 
> “You’re 18 years old. You live at home and don’t have a job. You’re not an adult.” 
> 
> “Well at least I’m mature enough to handle relationships, unlike some people.” 
> 
> “MATURE. Wow, that’s the exaggeration of the century.” 
> 
> “It’s true,” Bård baited with a smile. 
> 
> “You keep telling yourself that.” 
> 
> “I’ll admit I’m immature if you admit you’re a sad, lonely loser who can’t get a girl to even give him a pity fuck.” 
> 
> “Shut the fuck up, Bård.” He knew his brother wasn’t taking him seriously, but even he thought maybe he was a little too harsh. He shouldn’t tease his brother about being a virgin. At least he thought he was a virgin. He couldn’t imagine his brother having sex with someone without being in love with them first. But thoughts of his brother’s sex life were things he seriously didn’t want in his head, and he changed the subject to something softer, still teasing.
> 
> “Seriously Vegard, have you ever even been in love?” There was pointed silence from the other end of the phone. “Never? Not even like as a little kid?” 
> 
> “Who was I going to fall in love with as a kid? We were totally isolated out there, it was just you and me.”
> 
> “And yet here I am, a totally normal, emotionally available _adult_ with a girlfriend of three years and you’ve got nothing.” 
> 
> “Whatever. Love is dumb. It’s nonsensical. There’s absolutely no logic to it and it makes you do stupid things. Why would I want to be a part of that?” He had a point. Love, no matter what kind, made you do ridiculous, embarrassing things. Like lying to three different people about three different illnesses and obsessively cleaning your room when previously you hadn’t bothered for a whole year. 
> 
> “Well, there’s sex too.” 
> 
> “Okay, I’m hanging up now.” 
> 
> Bård’s laughter died in his throat and he did his best to hide his desperation to not let his brother go. 
> 
> “No, wait, you never told me what you’re doing. What’s even going on in your life these days?” 
> 
> “No, I actually do have to go, I wasn’t kidding.” 
> 
> “Seriously?” He hid his disappointment poorly. Too late now to tell his brother that he cared, missed him, in the most casual way he could.
> 
> “Yeah, there’s a curfew. I’m the lowest of the low in ranks here. In a month or two I should have more privileges but for now I can’t do fucking much of anything, really.” 
> 
> “Least of all fucking?” That one just sort of slipped out. Luckily, Vegard found it as funny as he did. 
> 
> “Least of all fucking.” Vegard paused, letting his laughter ease out into gentle huffs of breath. “I’ve gotta go. Tell Mom and Dad I’ll try to call them next weekend.” 
> 
> “Okay…” He was stalling, mind racing for some way to keep his brother on the phone, if just for a few seconds longer. 
> 
> “Are you okay? You’re being really weird.” 
> 
> “Yeah, I’m fine.” Vegard didn’t respond right away and Bård’s mind raced to several conclusions about what his brother could be thinking. 
> 
> “Do you want me to call you too?” Bård could hear Vegard’s smug smile through the earpiece, and he felt lucky that Vegard couldn’t see the blush that crept onto his cheeks. 
> 
> “You can just call Mom and Dad, we’re all the same number.” He tried too late to sound unaffected. 
> 
> “But what if you’re not around? Your girlfriend won’t always be sick, you could be out having fun with your friends.” 
> 
> “I’ll be here.” The finality of Bård’s statement carried through the phone, reassuring both brothers that what they didn’t say was communicated. It comforted Bård to know that he didn’t need to be looking into his brother’s eyes to still speak without saying. It was natural, every note of each other’s voice they could read like a simple sheet of music and play right back for only them to hear. 
> 
> “Okay.” Bård could hear his brother’s grin through the line. “Next Sunday, then?”
> 
> “Sunday.” He did his best to send his smile down the phone as well. They hung up, and Bård thumped his hand down on the bed, still clutching the phone. His cheek was hot and burning from where he pressed the phone a little too close, maybe in some vain hope that it could actually bring them closer. There was always Sunday. If distance and technology couldn’t bring them together, time would. He only had to be patient.     
> 
>  

* * *

 

Bård hunched over, eyes straining under his desk lamp as he tried to read the smallest print he’d ever read in his life. He looked over a copy of their contract with TV Norge, trying to wrap his head around exactly what his career was now in the legal sense. He knew he could probably just get lawyers or one of the smarter staff members of Concorde to look at it and explain it to him, but there was something about trying to figure it out himself that was particularly compelling. Normally he would have Vegard look at it, spell it all out in simple terms, or as simple terms as he could manage; but of course that wasn’t an option. 

The room had gotten dark around him, and he was startled to find it suddenly flooded with light from the ceiling. He turned to the doorway, seeing his wife standing there, hand still on the light switch. 

“Jesus Bård, you’ll go blind if you keep at it like that.” He felt dazed, and was unable to think of any proper comeback. 

“What’s up?” 

“Dinner’s ready.” Another meal he rued to eat. But it was far too soon for that wasn’t it? Last he looked at the clock it was only 4:30 PM. 

“I already ate.” 

“A bag of chips is not a meal. And that was hours ago, you realize that? You’ve been in here for a while.” He checked the clock again, and realized it was nearing 8. 

“Oh…” 

“Come on, help me set the table.” She moved from the doorway, and with reluctance in his very bones Bård followed. 

He wouldn’t say he had been avoiding them, but there seemed to be some internal force keeping Bård from socializing with the current company of the household. He loved kids, always got along with them well, but every note of laughter and childish scurrying was grating on Bård’s patience. 

He placed napkins in front of seven chairs at the table. It felt like such an unlucky number. In that moment the doorbell sounded, ringing surprise in both Bård and his wife. She walked to the door and opened it to find none other than Vegard’s wife standing on the other side. 

“Helene!” She brought the woman into a tight hug. “I didn’t know you’d gotten in yet, I thought you were arriving in the morning.” 

“I caught an earlier flight. I would’ve called, but my phone died, so I thought I’d just…” 

“Of course, of course. Come in, sit down. I’ll go grab the kids.” Helene stepped over the threshold as Maria retreated upstairs. She looked around aimlessly, before her eyes landed on Bård who leaned in the entryway. He didn’t break her gaze right away, something he regretted after she refused to stand down. She set her purse on the floor and walked up to him. He held his ground. He had been horrible to this woman, and it was rather time he owned up to it. 

“Bård,” she started. She stopped short in front of him, hands on her hips. He straightened his own stance, unsure of what was about to occur. And then she was hugging him, face pressed against his shoulder. Unsure of how to react, he wrapped tentative arms around her. She heaved a ragged sigh, stirring worry in his gut. 

“Hey,” he whispered into her hair. She hugged him tighter, and he could feel her breath hitching in her chest. He thought that of everyone in this world, right now she was the one who understood him most. They were the same really, gauged out by faceless hands and left only to cling to each other with him gone. Except the thought of sharing his grief didn’t comfort him like he thought it should, it just made it feel more real. Eventually she broke the embrace, pulling away from Bård at arms length. She looked him in the eyes, her own red-rimmed with tears. 

“Sorry.” She dabbed at her lashes with delicate fingers. “Sometimes you just remind me of him so much, you know?” He didn’t know. He didn’t understand why she was being so gracious, so kind. He thought maybe it had to do with how tired she looked. Her normally bright eyes were dulled and a frown pulled at the corners of her mouth despite her efforts to conceal it. He could tell from the moment she walked in the door. He wondered if how he felt on the inside was as obvious on his own face as it was on hers. 

Thumps pounded on the stairs as his wife, niece, and nephew entered the room. She turned from Bård without another look and plastered a practiced smile on her face. The children began to run as they caught sight of their mother. She knelt down to hug them both; a touching sight he wished he had the stomach for. He just didn’t. 

“How is your father doing?” Maria asked. The group gravitated to the couch, Bård finding his place on the farthest end. 

“Better, a lot better. It turned out to not be as severe an attack as they originally thought. He’s going to be fine after they add some medication to his regimen.” Helene mindlessly petted her daughter’s head as she spoke, eyes far away.

“That’s great to hear. We were thinking of you the whole time.” Maria turned to her husband beside her, patting his arm in confirmation. Bård’s eyes wandered to Helene’s and she returned it with a grateful smile. 

“How are my lovelies, huh?” Helene diverted her attention to her children on either side, voice laced with adoration and well-concealed distress. Bård was well versed in the practice. “Did you have fun with your cousins while I was gone?” 

They settled into idle chatter, which Bård was thankful he didn’t really need to be mentally present for. On top of it, Maria seemed to have forgotten about the meal she prepared, and it looked like Bård was going to get out of having to shove food in his stomach that he desperately didn’t want to be there. 

After twenty minutes or so, his son entered the room and complained about the lack of food, which prompted Helene to finally take her leave. Maria volunteered Bård to take the children’s bags out to her car, and begrudgingly he escorted his brother’s family out to the driveway.

After loading the bags in the trunk, the children piled into the car leaving just Bård and Helene in the chill night air. 

“Did he tell you he’d call you tomorrow?” Helene asked. Bård nodded. “Yeah, me too. It’ll be good to hear him, finally.” 

“Listen, I’m sorry that all that happened, your dad and everything, not getting to take Vegard to the base…” It was the first time he’d said his brother’s name since he left him, and it caught awkwardly in his throat on the way out. 

“It’s alright. I’m just glad he was with you.” Bård quirked an eyebrow. “He wouldn’t say it, but he was really upset when you left. He would’ve been pretty messed up if he didn’t get to see you again before he left, smooth things over.” Bård looked at his shoes. “You did smooth things over, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah we did.” His head shot up, but his eyes were slow to follow. “Um, speaking of which, I wanted to say that I’m—”

“It’s forgotten.” At that he looked her dead in the eyes, searching for some trace of a lie, of resentment. He found none. 

“Really? Just like that? You’re not pissed?” The woman was a living saint. His brother didn’t even know what an angel he had married, Bård was sure of it. 

“No, I was pissed, don’t get me wrong. What you said was definitely fucked up. But I know how you two are. You do stupid shit when it comes to each other. I’ve learned to deal with it.” She crossed her arms; out of the cold or resign he wasn’t sure. She was completely right, but it didn’t really make him feel any better about it. 

“Right…” Bård scratched his neck, unsure of how to end the conversation. It seemed like she was waiting for him to offer some emotional vulnerability or sympathetic statement, but it was never going to happen. Helene realized this and took the hint.

“Well, we should go, they need to eat. But we’ll see you soon, okay?” He nodded and she brought him into another hug, another one he wanted to escape from. “Hang in there, okay?” She rubbed his arm as she said it, and to Bård it was strangely reminiscent of her husband. _Hang in there_. He should be saying that to her, shouldn’t he? 

“Yeah, you too.” He backed away and waved curtly before walking back into his house. At last there were no living traces of his brother to plague his fevered and irritated mind. He was left only with his thoughts that pulled forward, forward, rushing him to a further date that would hold something greater than this. 

 

* * *

 

He didn’t call. Helene left a voicemail late Wednesday night saying Vegard had landed safely on the Asian continent. She couldn’t really say anything else, but she’d be in touch soon. There was no promise of a number to call, an address to write, no promise of his brother’s voice at all. No details were given on what was becoming of his brother’s life, and Bård wondered exactly what, in the wake of this gaping absence, was becoming of his own. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's try some plot instead of just angst.

It was three weeks, maybe, until they finally talked to each other. There wasn’t any way to apologize, any reason to, for the length of time that had passed. They’d gone longer than that not speaking to each other before the war (not much longer), and it was never cause for an apology. But the moment each other’s faces appeared before them, sorry was the only word on both their lips. 

It was an awkward sort of atmosphere, and Bård realized idly he’d never skyped with his brother before. His kids, wife, parents, sure—but never Vegard; he was usually wherever Bård was when he was far away. His face was blurry and splotchy from the poor connection. The background was just a white wall that Vegard leaned his head against, telling Bård nothing about his brother’s surroundings. 

“Where are you?” It seemed like a good place to start. 

“I’m in my bunk.” 

“No, I mean where in the world?” 

“Um,” Vegard looked away from the screen, scanning his surroundings. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you that.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah. I know.” Vegard rolled his eyes. Bård thought maybe yes or no answers would be safer. 

“Are you in Russia?” 

“Close. I’m close.” Bård scanned his memory for the countries that bordered Russia and made a note to look at a map later. “But not for long. I’ll be moving out of here in a week, maybe two.” 

“Where to?” Vegard paused again, but this time just lowered his eyes. 

“Can’t say.” His hesitation told Bård it wasn’t anywhere good. 

“Okay, well, what are you doing?”

Vegard filled him in on the goings on of the base camp, the boot camp training they went through that nearly killed Vegard, some of the colorful characters he had met there, _they rival some of the people from Norges Herligste, Bård, I swear,_ and the sheer boredom he was undergoing by waiting to be moved again. 

“So how’s your family doing?” Vegard chewed on an army-issued beef jerky stick that looked more gray than brown. 

“They’re fine, they’re good. Not used to me being around so much. I think they’re actually starting to get sick of me.” Vegard chuckled between chews. 

“What about my family, huh? How’s my wife, my kids?” Vegard asked it like he was asking what the weather was like, and Bård felt the hairs on his neck prickle in shame. 

“I—why wouldn’t you ask your wife how your kids are doing?” 

“She’ll lie to me if they’re not doing good. You’ll tell me the truth.” 

“Will I?” Vegard bit off another hunk of the stick, face blank and unchanging. “Well, if I’m being honest then I haven’t really seen them lately.” 

“Hm, interesting.” Bård looked to the side of the screen, anywhere but Vegard’s faraway eyes. “Well, go visit them sometime, will you? If your family is getting sick of you you’re welcome to go bother mine.” Bård laughed, and caught his brother’s gaze. It was hiding worry, for his family or for Bård he couldn’t tell. 

“Okay, I’ll go over sometime.” 

“Will you?” Vegard put on his stern face, the one he used when he was trying to intimidate Bård. It was working. 

“Yeah, of course.” Bård avoided his eyes, lying through his teeth. 

Then Vegard had to go, and Bård was glad to disconnect. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak to his brother, but lying to him wasn’t speaking to him. Bård made his way to the balcony, stepping out into the warm, midday air. He didn’t know how long it would be until he could be around Helene or Vegard’s children without panicking, but the time was definitely not now. Bård looked at the clear sky above him, and feeling a nervous stirring in his stomach turned back into his house slamming the glass shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

> “There it is!” Vegard beamed as he led Bård down the tarmac to the tiny white and blue plane. Bård’s stomach dropped at the sight of it. 
> 
> “That? _That’s_ what we’re flying in?” 
> 
> “Yeah, it’s great isn’t it?” Vegard put his hands on his hips, admiring the plane—if he could call it that. 
> 
> “It looks like a tin can. I thought we were flying a proper airplane.” 
> 
> “It is a proper airplane. Stop being such a sissy, Bård.” Vegard led his brother over to the plane and motioned for him to go to the passenger side. 
> 
> “Are you sure you can fly this thing?” 
> 
> “This is the plane I learned on. I took my pilot’s test in this plane. I can fly it.” Bård’s apprehension was not quelled, and he stepped with nervous legs into the steel death trap.   
> 
> “You’ve only been flying for what, a month now?” Bård slammed his door shut and felt like he was shutting himself in a coffin. 
> 
> “A month with my pilot’s license, but you have to log an insane amount of hours before you can even take the test you know.” Vegard shut his own door and went to work flipping switches and checking gauges. 
> 
> “Somehow I’m still not comforted.” Bård couldn’t bite back his sarcasm. Vegard stopped his motions and turned to Bård, already fed up. 
> 
> “Seriously? You said you wanted to do this.” 
> 
> “Yeah, that’s what I _said_. I was being nice. But…you know, now that we’re here, and I’m actually looking at this thing…” Vegard rolled his eyes and resumed his busied actions. “My car is bigger than this plane.” 
> 
> “Shut up Bård. Buckle your seat belt.” Bård heaved a heavy sigh and did as he was told. His brother turned the engine on and the noise wasn’t nearly as loud as he thought it should be. He steered them down the runway, Bård tapping his foot incessantly in anticipation. 
> 
> As they reached the far end, Vegard turned to his brother, giving him a devilish smile that Bård didn’t like one bit. 
> 
> “Are you ready, Bård?” 
> 
> “No.” 
> 
> “Good. Let’s go.” Vegard pushed on a lever and the engine began properly roaring. Bård craned his neck to try and glimpse the propeller, but couldn’t really see much of anything, just a lot of wing. Next he knew, they were speeding down the runway toward a chain-link fence. They weren’t going up, just barreling toward it, and Bård became concerned.   
> 
> “Vegard…” 
> 
> “Yeah?” 
> 
> “Are we going to—” 
> 
> “Wait for it.” Bård did not feel like waiting until the dinky plane was dismantled by a fucking fence. 
> 
> “We’re going to hit the fence, Vegard.” 
> 
> “I said, wait for it.” Vegard stared straight ahead, pushing the thrusters down at a snail’s pace. The fence was right in front of them. There was no way they were going to clear it. 
> 
> “Jesus—” Bård closed his eyes. Leave it to Vegard to kill them in the lamest way possible. But they didn’t die, they were in the air. Bård could tell by the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He opened his eyes to find them rising above the road just off the airport, the cars getting smaller and smaller. 
> 
> “See? I told you to just wait. You missed the best part.” 
> 
> “You’re cruel, you know that?” Bård sighed and looked forward from the hood of the hand covering his brow. He was barely able to see the wing just clear a tree as they flew over the side of a hill. “Christ, Vegard, do you know how to steer this thing?” 
> 
> “It’s called a yoke. And yes.”
> 
> “I really _really_ regret—” 
> 
> “Shh. Now when I tell you, look to your right. You can see the house.” 
> 
> “Where?” Bård peeked out the window to his right, seeing nothing but nondescript homes below. 
> 
> “Not yet,” he barked. Bård sighed, searching for some landmark he could recognize. “Annnd…. Now. Look. There it is.” Bård didn’t recognize anything until he spied a house smack in the middle of the others, which had a large tree shooting up into the air from the backyard. Bård could recognize it anywhere as their parents’ house. He had to admit, Vegard’s precision and timing were impressive.    
> 
> Over the next hour Vegard flew his brother low around Bergen, pointing out spots Bård would recognize, as well as natural landmarks he didn’t. He pointed out a lake Bård didn’t even know existed, as well as the house they egged of that kid from school that had been giving them shit when they moved back to Norway. Slowly, Bård relaxed. He might have even said he was enjoying himself. But he didn’t want to admit that to Vegard, not right away. 
> 
> “Having fun?” Vegard asked, voice smug as ever. 
> 
> “It’s okay I guess. If you’re into this kind of thing.”
> 
> “Okay, fine. I’ll show you something really exciting.” 
> 
> “Oh really? What are you—” Bård couldn’t finish his mocking before the plane sped through the air, faster than they’d gone the entire flight, and nearly straight up. Bård saw Vegard's hand pressing a lever as far as it would go, and his face was full of a kind of glee Bård had never seen on him. The plane kept climbing, and despite the thrill of it, Bård started to worry for their safety. “Vegard…” 
> 
> “Wait for it, Bård.” On cue, the plane broke the cloud barrier and all around them was a sea of white. It stretched for miles in all directions, and Bård couldn’t help the childish giggle it elicited. Vegard grinned, finally sure he had sufficiently impressed his brother. 
> 
> The two settled into comfortable silence, Bård still rapt by the sight before him. In that moment he had some semblance of understanding for why his brother could feel so at peace that high up in the air. He leaned his head against the window for he didn’t know how long, until Vegard’s clear, loud voice broke the silence. 
> 
> “Shit.” 
> 
> “What?” Vegard didn’t respond to him. “What’s happening?” 
> 
> “I don’t know. Something’s wrong.” 
> 
> “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Vegard flipped two more switches, but his worried expression remained constant. Bård’s heart pounded in his chest. “This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening. Fix it. Whatever it is, just fix it.” 
> 
> “I would fix it if I knew what was wrong,” Vegard snapped back.
> 
> A loud crack pierced through the small cabin, leaving Bård clutching the thin metal walls. 
> 
> “What was that?” Bård all but screamed. 
> 
> “I don’t know. The engine’s—” Vegard raised his fist and pounded hard on one of the glass gauges. “It’s losing power. Work, you little fucking—” He hit another gauge harder this time, and a dull clicking set off.
> 
> “What did you do?” Bård’s panic was real now.
> 
> “I didn’t do anything! I don’t—this shouldn’t be happening.” 
> 
> “Well it is happening. What’s that sound? What are you supposed to do?” 
> 
> “I don’t know, it’s supposed to just…” Bård went quiet as his brother’s eyes wandered over the array of controls, searching for the answer among hundreds of little lights and buttons that held no meaning to Bård. “Shit.” 
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “We’re losing elevation. Fast.” 
> 
> “Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck…” Dread settled deep inside him as he cursed under his breath. 
> 
> “Bård!” Vegard took notice, and sounded more panicked at his brother’s response than at the failing engine. “Bård listen to me.” Bård ducked his head into his lap. “Hey! Stop, look at me.” Vegard pushed on his shoulder, shoving him upright. 
> 
> “Do you trust me?” Hand still on his shoulder, Vegard’s eyes darted back and forth from Bård’s face to the control panel.
> 
> “Yes, I trust you.” Bård’s voice was laced with doubt.
> 
> “Who would you rather be flying this plane right now?” Vegard turned his eyes completely away from the board, focusing his attention entirely on his brother. It worried more than comforted Bård, but he did his best to hone in on his brother’s voice.  He closed his eyes. “Whose hands would you rather be putting your life in?” Vegard’s voice was insistent; he wanted a real answer.  
> 
> “Nobody. No one.” Bård’s answer was immediate.
> 
> “You trust me, right?” Bård nodded, breath still coming in short bursts. He opened his eyes to see his brother looking out at the sky in front of them. “Because if you don’t trust me, then I can’t trust myself.” Vegard spared a quick glance at Bård, and he spotted the glimmer of fear in his brother’s eyes. 
> 
> “I do, I do trust you.” Bård mustered what courage he could for his brother. It was easier than he thought it would be. “More than anyone,” he added, as almost an afterthought. 
> 
> “Really?” Vegard asked in a quiet voice. Bård almost couldn’t hear it over the abnormal sounds from the engine. 
> 
> “Always.” Bård looked out the windshield to the clouds rushing up, not past them. “I’m just scared.” 
> 
> “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Bård couldn’t tell if he was saying it for Bård or for himself. Vegard waited a moment, looking blankly at the controls in front of him. “I’m going to try something.” 
> 
> “What?” Bård asked, restraining his panic. 
> 
> “Don’t worry, we’re just going to drop a little.”
> 
> “Drop?!” 
> 
> “Bård. It’s okay. Just trust me.” Vegard looked Bård straight in the eyes. “I’m going to fix this. We’re going to be okay. You believe me, right?” Bård nodded his head. 
> 
> The engine’s clicking picked up speed, and the plane shook intermittently. Vegard flipped another switch and moved the thrusters up a few inches. 
> 
> “Okay, I think this is going to work.” He locked eyes with Bård, giving him a tight smile. Bård knew he was scared, but he also knew Vegard would quicker eject Bård from the plane than let anything happen to him. Bård nodded his head at his brother, and Vegard took hold of the yoke. Bård shut his eyes and instinctively his hand reached out to clutch his brother’s thigh. 
> 
> Bård saw nothing, but felt his stomach drop as the feeling of free fall rippled through him. He squeezed his brother’s leg tighter as the seconds dragged on slower than molasses. He could feel the blood pumping hard and fast in his brother’s pulse and Bård could only whisper his brother’s name under his breath, just as he heard the engine catch. 
> 
> He opened his eyes, and they were still in the air, miraculously. Everything looked the same except the wide, astonished beam on Vegard’s face. The two looked at one another and laughed, unable to do much else. Bård threw his head back on the seat and released all the air from his lungs. Vegard continued to giggle to the absence of clicking or any unusual sounds from the engine. 
> 
> “How did you know that would work?” Bård asked. 
> 
> “I’m a pilot, remember?” Vegard flipped another switch and adjusted the thrusters back to where they were. 
> 
> “Fucking hell. Let’s never do that again, huh?” 
> 
> “I’ll try.” Bård could feel the plane lifting slowly as his breathing evened out. “Um, Bård?” 
> 
> “Huh?”
> 
> “Could you let go? You’re starting to cut off circulation.” Bård looked at his hand that was still grabbing onto his brother’s leg with an iron grip, and let it go in haste. He drew his hand back and shared another round of relieved laughter with his brother. 
> 
> “Sorry.” Bård looked at his brother who returned his gaze with a cheeky grin. 
> 
> “I told you you could trust me.”

 

* * *

 

Bård arrived late, but he figured they’d be expecting that. Morten and Jan, heads of programming at TV Norge, had met with Bård and his brother several times in the past, and seemed generally apathetic to the occasional less-than-professional behavior of the Ylvisåkers. 

When he entered the conference room it was empty except the two men and a few water bottles. Pleasantries were exchanged and Bård sat opposite them at the long table. The meeting was standard, routine, but for a reason he couldn’t place Bård felt uncomfortably outnumbered. 

“So, you wanted to look at the contracts again?” Bård asked. 

“Right, well we have here…” Jan dug in a folder in front of him, pulling out a small packet of papers. “…Your current contract.” He slid it across the table. 

“And here’s the new one we’d like you to look at.” Morten slammed another stack on top of the other, lips pursed as he looked at Bård expectantly. Jan folded his hands together, waiting with a similar expression. They had the air of two people who had worked together for years and years, intimate knowledge of each other’s ticks and behaviors, yet their relationship didn’t seem as warm as…as other people Bård could think of.    

Bård wasn’t aware there was going to be any new contract. It had only been a month and a half since their official hiatus and they had agreed on six months. 

“What about Vegard’s contract?” he asked.

“Vegard’s contract…” Jan looked to Morten, as if confused why the question was being asked. 

“...Is essentially terminated,” Morten finished. 

“It’s what?!” Bård sat up in his chair, outrage spreading across his features. 

“Look, it’s not up to us,” Morten backpedaled. “The execs decided his military status is a liability and they don’t want to hold on to him. It’s bad for PR. Things with the war are…tricky, to say the least. It’s better if we’re not affiliated at all.” 

“So that’s it? You’re just done with him?” 

“He’ll get a sum of money for breaking the contract before term, but otherwise, yes. It’s done.” Bård scoffed under his breath, looking away. They were just going to get rid of him, like he was disposable. Bård wondered if this was the kind of company he wanted to be doing business in the future with after all. “Vegard knows this.” Bård’s eyes locked with Jan’s. “We told him two weeks ago, he sent an electronic signature to verify the break.” Bård couldn’t speak, his head spinning with the overflow of information. Jan picked up on Bård’s disbelief and started rifling through his file again. “I have the copies of it, if you want to look at them.” Bård looked past his eyes, barely registering Morten’s subtle gesture for Jan to drop it.    

His brother had ended his entertainment career indefinitely and didn’t have the courtesy to even tell him about it. It made no sense, but then again, it was Vegard, so it made all the sense in the world. He probably thought he was sparing Bård of something. 

“Bård, why don’t you take a look at your new contract. Just read a little, and tell us how that sounds to you.” Morten nudged the stack closer to Bård, and looking up at him Bård obliged. 

He scanned the papers, picking up words like Concorde, development, “creative television project,” _seven million_ —Bård couldn’t believe what he was reading, but if he read it right, they were handing him a dream come true. He wondered why he felt more like he was trapped in one of his schoolboy nightmares. 

“So? What do you think? Exclusive rights to you and Concorde TV, complete creative control, a million up front, and more to come, and you get to develop it all yourself. That’s the dream deal, isn’t it?” Morten and Jan grinned at one another, and Bård would have seen it for the genuine excitement it was if he weren’t so busy trying to find a way to escape the situation. 

“That’s…I mean yeah, that’s great, it’s just—” 

“Come on, Bård. We had to hard sell this to the execs to even get you this deal.” Morten leaned forward on the table, poorly hiding his exasperation. 

“It would have been nice for you to sell it to _me_ first, before you went and pitched it to the executives.” Bård tried to withhold the venom from his words but it slipped out, and he felt hard-pressed to care. 

“We just thought this would be perfect for you. We really want to keep working with you.” Jan’s feeble sentiment stirred some remorse in Bård, but not enough to shake him into a decision. 

“We’re giving you complete freedom here. You can do basically whatever you want. Why are you hesitating?” Morten prodded.

“I’m not hesitating, I’m just thinking about it.” Jan’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the table and Bård felt panic creeping in his chest. “Can I sleep on it?”

Morten and Jan looked at each other. 

“Okay, I’ll admit, we had a feeling you might react like this,” Jan said. Bård looked at them blankly. With clear discomfort, Jan continued. “So, this is sort of an ambush.”

“Excuse me?” Bård asked, incredulous.

“We need to bring the fall lineup to the exec board by 8 PM, so this is it. Now or never,” Morten said. 

“8 PM? That’s in five hours!” 

“Exactly,” Morten stared him down. “So you need to make this decision quick.” Bård rubbed his eyes, exhaustion and stress clouding his thoughts. 

“Jesus Christ if I had known you guys were going to play hardball I would have—” 

“Would have what? Brought your lawyer? That wouldn’t have changed anything. Look Bård, you’re huge to us, to everyone, to Norway for fuck’s sake. We love having you with us. But if you don’t take this, we can’t promise there’ll be anything for you moving forward. Not everyone is going to give you an opportunity like this.” Bård looked up. Morten seemed encouraged by his response. “Everyone else? They’re only interested in Ylvis. We’re interested in Bård Ylvisåker. This is your chance to step out and make a name for yourself.” 

“Fucking hell.” His brother hadn’t told him he was alone in this. It was like Vegard was trying to make the decision for him from thousands of miles away. But Bård still had to say yes, still had to sign the papers. 

“Bård?” 

“Yeah, just—just give me a second.” 

He promised Vegard. He could lie, tell him this meeting never happened and just as easily get away with it—that had been the original plan anyway. But he had promised him. 

“Well Bård? Are you in or are you out?” 

 

* * *

 

“Fucking hell Bård, that’s fantastic! That’s insane, I’m so happy for you.” Vegard beamed his pixelated smile, shocked laughter falling from his lips. 

“Thanks.” Bård chuckled hollowly, wanting with everything in him to share his brother’s enthusiasm. He knew he was being bratty, but if he felt doomed he felt doomed and there was nothing Bård could do to change that. 

“Damn, if I had known getting rid of one of us was going to earn the other seven million I would have stuffed you in a sack and—” 

“You didn’t tell me they’d cut you out of your contract.” Vegard coughed and looked away from the screen. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Ah, well. What’s there to say? What’s done is done, I guess.” 

“It would have been nice to know going in there, in that room, with…” Bård trailed off, remembering their pitying looks at him. 

“I’m sorry, Bård. I should have told you.” Bård nodded. His brother, young and breathing before him, was officially out of the entertainment business. Bård knew it was something that would happen at one point, but he never thought now, and he never thought like this. He could see it weighing on his brother, heavier than he could hold despite his uplifting façade. Vegard cleared his throat, trying to shake off the silence. “But seriously, this deal is amazing. You can do whatever you want!” 

“Yeah, I guess…” 

“What? What now? You get the TV deal of a lifetime and you’re still complaining. So typical.” Vegard shook his head. 

“It’s just—it’s almost _too much_ freedom.” 

“Do you realize what an idiot you sound like right now?” 

“It’s true! I have to decide the format, the cast, what kind of humor, will there be music, will it be sketches, will there be an audience—” 

“Okay, I get it.” 

“—and it’s all riding on me. If this fails, if it’s not funny and it gets canceled, then that’s on me. I fucked up. Me alone.” 

“One, that’s not true; and two, that would never happen.” Vegard’s voice was solid and unwavering, challenging Bård’s deepest insecurities. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I know.” 

“You’ve never seen me do a whole show by myself, no one has, because I’ve never done it. I could be shit.” 

“Bård I know because you’re the funniest person I’ve ever met in my life and if anyone deserves their own show, it’s you.” There was something different about Vegard. It was like his whole self was dulled or muted in some way. Bård could tell from the moment he saw him on the screen, before he even said a word. Fatigue seemed to permeate every one of his brother’s senses, and Bård thought that a sentiment as genuine and kind as the one he just gave meant nothing but bad things to come. 

“Okay, now you’re really starting to freak me out.” They both smiled, and Bård tried to catch his eyes through the screen. 

“Listen, I have some good news too,” Vegard said. 

“Yeah?” Bård didn’t know what good news could possibly come from Vegard’s end, but he was eager to find out.

“I talked to the general today about flying.”

“Wow, no shit!” Bård beamed back at his brother, all pitying thoughts of himself gone. “What did he say?” 

“He said it was possible. I’d have to take a flight test, do a few ride-alongs with the pilots, but they’d definitely consider it.” 

“That’s brilliant! That’s perfect. You’ll ace the test and then bam—you’re an army pilot.”

“Well, it probably won’t be that easy, but…” Vegard tried to contain his smile but Bård could see his hope seeping through. “Look at us both, doing exactly what we said we would.” Bård looked at him, searching for something, he wasn’t sure what, in his brother’s face. It was the first time either of them had mentioned that night, the long night before he left where they said things they’d never forget though they’d like to pretend they did. It was like Vegard had broken some dam of repressed truth and neither could do anything to stop the honesty pouring out of their mouths. 

“You know,” Bård looked away from Vegard’s image on the screen. “If I’m being honest, I never intended to keep my promise.” Vegard huffed a smile. 

“Me either.” 

“What made you change your mind?” Bård asked, voice quiet and curious. Vegard’s eyes shifted to the side, and he swallowed hard before answering. 

“A lot of the people here just came back from where I’m going. It’s…you were right. I don’t want to be on the ground. I can’t—it’s fucking scary.” He laughed a little; Bård knew it was to mask his fear. Vegard avoided showing his true weaknesses to his younger brother at all costs, and the fact that he couldn’t was a bad sign. Foreboding seemed to be Bård’s constant companion these days.

“So, you’re okay with it then?” Bård looked at his hands, changing the subject for the lack of strength he possessed to support his brother’s fears.

“Okay with what?” 

“With me doing the show. By myself.” Bård looked back to his brother’s eyes for the inevitable approval he so desperately needed. 

“Of course I’m okay with it, I made you swear you would, dumbass.” 

“Okay.” Bård laughed, the anxiety in his chest easing just the slightest amount. “But if I fuck this up, I’m blaming it on you.” 

“You’re not going to fuck it up. You’re going to be good. You’re going to be fucking great, Bård.” 

“Okay, sure.” 

“I’m serious, Bård.” Vegard’s voice softened. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this all yesterday/tonight so I'll try to take more care with the next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like arguments then you're in for a treat.

In some guilty part of his mind, Bård disliked how normal it all felt. Get up, grab breakfast, go down to the office, throw ideas around for a few hours, lunch, more brainstorming, go home, dinner, bed. It was almost the same as it had been before the war. He was working with basically all of the same people; only a few changes due to the new format. On top of that, the actual writing process was minimal as the show was entirely improv based. 

When tackling the daunting task of coming up with his ideal show, Bård decided it was safest to play to his strengths. That being said, improv required at least one other person, and since he needed more pull than just his own fame to get viewers, why not include some celebrities. They decided the show would be an amalgam of all the best parts of I Kveld: the improv, pranks, and guests. It would be aired live, and each episode one or more new guests would join Bård in improv scenes of various kinds. 

To say that it was exactly what he wanted would be a lie, but it was just as much as he thought he could handle. For now. Confidence was a fickle thing to persuade, and Bård would need more than just the reassurance of his friends and family to convince him that he was self-sufficient. In addition, TV Norge decided that time was of the essence and pushed production to the beginning of summer. With less than a month to go, everyone, and especially Bård, was forced into a state of static anxiety. 

Bård was back to courting negligence with the amount of time he spent with his family, although the time away felt emptier now than he ever remembered. Vegard was now serving full-time, actually engaging in combat. It was a fact he liked to forget as often as he could, but was becoming impossible to ignore. 

Bård saw him twice in two months, in a crowded living room with the rest of their combined families. Vegard no longer had the luxury to speak to anyone individually, and Bård felt the tenuous grasp he had on his brother’s counsel slip away. There was little he wouldn’t give to ask his brother what in god’s name he should be doing, how the hell he was supposed to run a show all by himself—but reality wouldn’t permit it and neither would his own ego. 

On Vegard’s birthday they all sent a care package and watched him open it on screen. Included were cards from his kids and Bård’s family, his favorite candy, pastries, things of the like. He opened the box carelessly, nearly ripping the cards inside with his knife as he slashed across the top. He was pleased, that was true, but there was something artificial about it. His reactions felt put on, and Bård did his best not to wince at Vegard’s hollow laughter. 

The truth was that Vegard looked worse each time he saw him, like the life was being sucked out of his very lungs. He spoke softer than Bård remembered, but smiled more. It seemed like compensation. So Bård did what he did when things got too much to bear, and threw everything into his work. 

He stood and paced beside the man at the keyboard, who was playing the same three chords over and over again. It was the fifth day in a row that he was working with Jensen, and each day they left the tiny room exhausted and disappointed from the lack of productivity. Bård tapped his hand against his leg, following the rhythm of the half-written song. 

“And, _now_ ,” Bård pointed at him, and he switched to a new fourth chord. Bård made a face, displeased with the sound. “No, not that.” 

“Then what?” Jensen went back to playing the three chords again, looking up now and again with a blank gaze for direction. 

“I don’t know. Try something else.” At the proper beat, Jensen changed to another chord that sounded more jarring than the first. “Definitely not that. It needs to be more upbeat, more—more like…happier I guess?” 

“Okay…” Jensen moved his hands up to the black keys, trying again. Even he made a face at the sound it made. 

“I said happier, not deranged.” 

“I’m doing my best, Bård.” Jensen went back to the three chords, then tried five consecutive rounds of changes. Bård’s finger tapping became faster and faster as he listened. This never used to be hard. Even when he wasn’t sure what was supposed to come next, he was at least sure they would get there eventually. Sitting there listening to the dissonance from the keyboard, Bård saw no end or solution in sight.

“Fuck!” Bård slammed his hand on the desk and pushed a chair from the table aside. The music cut out and Jensen looked up, face twisted with impatience. 

“What? What are you angry about now?” Jensen sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Bård could see a cold irritation behind his eyes. He thought he should give up, blow over his own outburst, but taking fault was never in his nature. 

“This is your job isn’t it?” Bård asked plainly. 

“I'm sorry?” 

“You’re being paid to do what, exactly?” Bård looked at his face that searched for a reason behind his questions. Talking down to this man gave him a kind of pleasure he was unused to feeling.

“I’m a musician,” he replied, not appreciating the condescension.

“Right. You’re a musician. This is what you’re here for. So you really can’t figure out how it should go?” 

“Me?! _You_ don’t know how it should go. You’re the one telling me it’s not good enough.” Bård wasn’t used to people outside his family talking back to him. In truth, he was regretting every word that was coming out of his mouth, but to counter the unease he pushed on. 

“Because it isn’t. It’s not the right mood at all. You don’t fucking get it, obviously.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jensen rose from his chair and stepped away from the table, heading for the door. “I can’t work like this. I just can’t deal with your shit right now, Bård.” 

“Oh sure, I’m the one being difficult, when you can’t figure out a twenty second song,” Bård called after him. Jensen stopped with his hand on the doorknob, then raced back to Bård so quickly and with such anger that Bård stepped back in unconscious defense.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know what you want if _you_ don’t even know what you want? I’m not fucking psychic, I can’t read your mind and just magically know. Maybe your brother could, but I can’t.” The feeling of ice bloomed in Bård’s stomach at the words. Shock tainted his features for two elongated seconds before simmering anger won out. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I just mean—” Jensen backed away slowly, eyes darting down and up from Bård’s piercing stare. 

“Did you really just fucking say that?” Bård’s voice was close to a whisper. He could hear that the chatter of the office had died out. Bård knew they were listening, and he was probably making a scene, but it really didn’t fucking matter. 

“Listen, I get it.” It might have amused Bård to watch him frantically backpedal if he weren’t so fucking angry. “You two were really in sync. He was a great musician and he was a great performer, but I’m not him. I can’t do what he did.” 

“What do you mean ‘was’? What do you mean ‘did’? Why are you talking about him like that?” Bård tried to control his tone; it betrayed his insecurities. 

“Well he’s not here, is he?!” Jensen motioned wildly to the empty space around them, voice back to a shout. “Your brother is not a part of this, and you need to start acting like it. We need to move forward with this project and you’re going to have to grow up and learn how to work with other people. That’s just how it has to be.” He strode to the door and slammed it shut. Through the frosted glass he could see the silhouettes of coworkers moving out of the way, returning to their desks to look nonchalant.  

Bård tried to hold on to his anger. Anger was familiar, safe, blameless. He left the office for an hour, walking to a café down the road only to walk back after staying inside for less than five minutes. He walked slow back to the office, and sat in an empty conference room with rapidly cooling coffee. He scratched at the Styrofoam idly as calm remorse settled into him.

Bård had never truly appreciated how patient Vegard was with him. He admitted to himself that in the many years of their partnership, perhaps Vegard had coddled Bård a little too much. Now he was oblivious to when he was being demanding or unfair, and as a result was probably burning every bridge with the people he had left. 

“Working hard?” Bård heard Jensen’s voice behind him. He would have turned, but embarrassment prohibited him. Now was the time for apologies he figured, and though he felt at fault, admitting it was another thing entirely. 

“Sorry for blowing up at you,” Bård spat out. His voice was detached, lacking the sincerity he meant to convey. 

“No, you don’t need to apologize, I do.” Jensen came around and sat beside Bård, angling his chair to face him. 

“Thanks.” 

“That wasn’t the apology,” Jensen chuckled. “Look I shouldn’t have brought your brother into this; that was uncalled for. It has nothing to do with him.” 

“You’re right though. I’m pretty useless alone.”

“I never said that.” 

“I’m a pain to work with when I’m by myself. I realize that.” Bård looked just left of his eyes. 

“Look, you’re a social guy, Bård. You chose the format of this show specifically to work with lots of other people. You’re going to be doing comedy with new people every week, for Christ’s sake—” 

“Well then it looks like I’m fucked.” 

“No you’re not. I was just trying to say that it’ll get easier. You’ll get used to it soon.” Bård nodded and gave him a pursed smile. He stood and made for the door, smiling in return. 

“Oh by the way,” he called from the door. Bård turned in his chair to look at him. “The chord we were looking for was a B flat.” They grinned at one another before the door clicked shut.

Bård took only another minute or two in thought before downing his cold coffee and getting back to work.  

 

* * *

 

> Bård ran around the theater three times, but there was no sign of him. He checked the dressing rooms twice, even went inside one of the closets just to be sure.
> 
> Vegard storming out in the middle of rehearsal like that was absurd, and frankly pretty annoying, but his irritation morphed into concern as nearly thirty minutes had passed and his brother was nowhere to be found. He asked the lady at the front desk and the stage manager if they’d seen him, and they’d both told him to give it some time, he’d turn up; but of course Bård ignored them, as he was wont to do.
> 
> He found his way back to the stage, now completely empty save for the instruments the band had left behind. He took a deep breath, pausing where he was. The theater was quiet and still, and Bård tried to imagine it filled with people, all waiting to see their stage debut for the first time in four years. There was a banner lying on the floor below him, with _YLVIS III_ in large letters and a photo of their faces beside it. Bård felt the familiar thrill of anticipation for a show. There was really nothing else like it.
> 
> From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He looked to his right, and peeking out from underneath the top of the curtain he saw a sneaker bobbing, the foot it held jiggling without stop. He recognized it immediately as Vegard’s.
> 
> He stepped into the wings, finding a thin metal ladder leading up into the rafters. Bård tested its first rung with his foot. It felt incredibly unstable, but there were no other options. He climbed up carefully, doing his best to make as little noise as possible. He must have been quiet enough, because when the top of the rafter came into sight, Bård could fully view Vegard sitting in between two lights with colorful filters, completely oblivious to his presence.
> 
> Bård cleared his throat to announce himself, climbing the last of the ladder as he did. From the exasperated look Vegard gave him, Bård wished he had stayed silent longer to better gauge his mood. He walked with care across the hanging beam, taking a seat next to his brother. Vegard shifted away from him, moving a few inches farther down the board.
> 
> “So, are we going to talk about this?” Bård started, tone casual.
> 
> “No.”
> 
> “Come on Vegard, you can’t just hide up here. What is this even about?” Vegard kept his face turned away from him.
> 
> “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
> 
> “Too bad.”
> 
> “Seriously, leave me the fuck alone.” He turned to Bård, genuine distress painted on his face. Bård was taken aback, but it only made him more determined to find the cause.
> 
> “Is it the music?” He didn’t think it could be that, but it was worth a try.
> 
> “Go away, Bård.”
> 
> “Are you nervous about performing it?”
> 
> “Sure, that,” Vegard spat. Bård scoffed in reply.
> 
> “Bullshit.”
> 
> “What?” Vegard turned to look at Bård, irritation getting the better of him.
> 
> “That’s a total lie.”
> 
> “Are you sure?” Bård didn’t appreciate the sarcasm.
> 
> “We don’t get stage fright, Vegard. And unless you’ve suddenly become a total pussy that’s not the real reason.”
> 
> “Whatever Bård. Whatever will make you go away, that’s the reason.” His brother turned away again, and Bård could see he was getting nowhere. A surge of anger ran through him, and he rose up from the plank, catching his brother’s attention as he did.
> 
> “Fine. Let me know when you’re done having your little bitch fit.” He walked back to the ladder, climbing down the thin rungs.
> 
> “Great…” Bård cast one last glance at Vegard before his head cleared the beam. He had his head in his hand, eyes closed, and the other arm wrapped around himself. Bård wanted to leave, he was just going to get yelled at again, but he couldn’t.
> 
> “Is there something seriously wrong? Should I be concerned about you?” Bård stepped up a few more rungs.  
> 
> “No, Bård. Just go.” There was a quiet resign in his voice, and he kept his eyes shut tight.
> 
> “Hey, I’m trying to help you. Would you just look at me?” Vegard relented, greeting him with an expression torn by worry and anger. “I don’t know what you’re upset about, because you won’t tell me, but you just need to calm down.”
> 
> “I can’t just calm down, Bård. There’s too much riding on this.”
> 
> “On what? The show? It’s going to be fine.”  
> 
> “You always act like this, like everything is so easy. You just blindly trust that everything will work out somehow.” His brother was riled up, and Bård knew the confrontation meant they were close to a breakthrough.
> 
> “Because it will.”
> 
> “How do you know that?!”
> 
> “It always does, stop worrying.” Bård didn’t understand why his brother was so scared, and that was more unsettling than any anger he could throw at him.
> 
> “You don’t worry about anything. This is serious. It’s our first show that’s really ours on the stage and—”
> 
> “Exactly. We can finally do whatever we want. There’s no expectation from anyone. If it’s not funny, that’s it. Who cares? We’re not doing anything important here.”
> 
> “But it is important!” Vegard shouted. “This time, it’s important. If I screw up, or if I’m not ready, then people are going to get hurt.” His voice died out at the end, truth and vulnerability finally leaking through. If only Bård knew what the hell he was talking about.
> 
> “Wait, what?”
> 
> “Oh god, nothing. Just forget I ever said anything.” Vegard ran his hand across his face, embarrassment clear at his outburst.
> 
> “What are we really talking about here?” The sheepish gaze on his face spoke of something far more personal to Vegard than his career. Whatever he was talking about, it was serious enough for him to feel too uncomfortable about speaking about it with his brother. Realization dawned on him like cracking an egg on his head, and Bård slowly climbed back onto the beam, sitting close beside his brother. “This wouldn’t happen to be about…” Vegard sighed, knowing he was found out. He fixed his stare at some seat in the audience beyond them, and Bård did him the courtesy of looking away from him too as they embarked on their conversation.
> 
> “I don’t know how you did it, Bård. I’m 28 and I feel like I need another ten years before I’ll be ready for this.”
> 
> “You’re never going to be ready for it.”
> 
> “Wow, that’s comforting.”
> 
> “Nobody is. But when it happens, you’ll know what to do. It’s instinctive, you figure it out.”
> 
> “But I’m not even that good with kids. Now I have to take care of one for the rest of my life? I could fuck them up, badly, if I do it wrong.”  
> 
> “I don’t know, you’ve been taking care of the biggest baby in the world for 25 years, and you’ve done a pretty good job.” Vegard was the first to turn and look at him, and when Bård followed suit his brother had a strange smile on his face.
> 
> “That’s not true.”
> 
> “Are you serious? Hold on; let me get my phone out then say that again. I need this on record.” Vegard huffed a laugh then turned back to the audience.
> 
> “You know, you act like you’re a child most of the time, and play this helpless thing, but you’re really not.” Bård started to object, but no sound came out of his mouth. Vegard looked steadfast into the distance. “You grew up a long time ago. Way before I ever did.” Bård couldn’t find the words to express the warm feeling that flooded his stomach. Instead he bumped his shoulder into his brother’s, barely restraining his flattered grin. Vegard looked at him, controlling his own smile. “Do you know how pathetic it feels to be looking up to your younger brother?”
> 
> “What can I say? I’m just that good.”
> 
> “You’re not that good with heights.”
> 
> “What do you mean?” Vegard grabbed hold of the edges of the plank and shook them violently, rocking the entire thing into an unsteady swing. Bård clung to the board as his heart dropped and the blood drained from his face. “Stop, stop!” Vegard ceased as quickly as he had begun, and laughed heartily while pointing at Bård’s frightened face. “Fucking dick.” Bård punched his shoulder, shoving his brother toward the edge with light pressure. Vegard just took it, turning his face away from the assault and letting his laughter die out as Bård released his aggression.
> 
> They fell into an amiable silence, breaths evening out from joy and fear, respectively. Eventually Bård looked around, noticing some people had entered the theater but were completely unaware of their presence. His brother had picked a nearly perfect hiding spot.  
> 
> “Damn, you really didn’t want me to find you, huh?” Bård asked.
> 
> “Yeah, I was watching you run around for a while from up here while you were directly below me.”
> 
> “So you heard me shouting your name that whole time, and you just sat here, watching me run around like a chicken with its head cut off.”
> 
> “Oh yeah,” Vegard responded with a shit-eating grin.
> 
> Bård retaliated with another attack of punches, rocking the board and straining the chains that held it to a worrying degree. Bård felt safe.

 

* * *

  

It had been two weeks since he’d seen or talked to his brother. Bård slowly eased into a flow at work, knowing when to push and when to back off of his colleagues. It wasn’t effortless to read their moods, and there was always so much explaining to get anything across, but he supposed that was normal. Again, he was spoiled. 

The next step was the promotional tour, hitting the major talk shows to reveal to the nation his latest solo venture. This part would at least be familiar. Bård often did interviews alone, even when Vegard was in the same room, so in that way he could relax. 

But with the interviews came the inevitable questions about his singularity. _How is Vegard? What does he think of the show? What’s it like doing a show alone? Are you nervous? Will Vegard be watching?_ Bård would have loved to know the answer to any of those questions, because he had asking himself the same things for months. But he was a professional; he knew to smile and spout just how delightful everything was, how supportive everyone was, and how much fun the show was going to be.

The final hurtle was a nighttime news show, where Bård would be featured as the half-time portrait interview. The point was to spotlight Bård himself, get to know what really went on behind the scenes of his new show. The host was new, an ambitious young journalist who had built a reputation for getting her guests to say things they normally wouldn’t in any public forum. Bård wouldn’t say he was nervous, but he wondered what she would dredge up in her attempt to smear him. The best part was that it was live, and the moment he put his foot in his mouth there was no going back. 

“And if she asks me something I can’t answer?” he asked his publicist in the makeup room, just twenty minutes to show time. She merely shrugged.

“It’ll be good practice for you,” she had said. “One of your guests is bound to fuck you over on live TV at some point, might as well figure out how to handle it now.” Bård felt up to the challenge.

He sat at a black desk against a black backdrop dotted with vague maps of the world. He told Helene three days prior to tell Vegard that he was going to be on TV, a special interview to promote the new show. He got a text from her saying that Vegard would try to watch if he could.

He reread the message as people bustled around him, lining up cameras and lights. At last the woman took her seat with a stack of notecards in hand, and Bård looked up. She looked about the same age as him, thin, blonde, with a pug nose square in the middle of her face. Her eyes were brown he noticed, as they bore into him from across the desk.

“Hi, Anne Olsen.” She reached her body across the length of the desk to extend her hand. Bård shook it firmly, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“Bård. Nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure.” He swore her eyes lit up the faintest bit. “This will be fun, won’t it?” Bård didn’t have time to respond before the stage manager was counting down from five. She smoothed a lock of her hair and cast one last glance at her cards before smiling straight down the camera on cue.

“Welcome back. Tonight, we feature the younger brother of the famous comedy duo Ylvis, who came into international attention last year with the success of their viral video, ‘The Fox.’ Today, he hosts his own guest improv show on TV Norge starting this June.” She swiveled her chair toward him, and he saw the cameras mimic the motion. “Bård Ylvisåker, thank you for joining us tonight.”

“Thank you for having me.” He nodded politely.

“Well, let’s get right down to it. You’re famous for working with your brother in the duo Ylvis, but no more. What’s it been like working alone?” This he had answered a hundred times already. Perhaps he could skate through the interview on autopilot.

“Inevitably, there are going to be adjustments. Getting used to a new flow and working with a few new people, but it’s been going well.”

“And how are you adjusting at home? I understand you had a long break between the last season of your talk show and this one.” He didn’t like where she was going with the question for the fact that he had no idea where it was headed.

“Not much to adjust to, really. I spent time with family mostly.”

“Your family…” She took a moment to look at her cards. “This would be your wife and three children. You became a father at a very young age, is that correct?”

“Yes, I was 19.” He shifted in his chair, doing his best not to display his unease.

“So your eldest is a teenager then. Is she turning out to be anything like you were at that age?” Ms. Olsen’s grin bared her teeth, and Bård instinctively knew he couldn’t trust this woman at all.

“She’s fine.” Bård gave her a cold smile, cutting off her line of questioning. Normally he wouldn’t be so defensive, but there was something about this woman that made him more uncomfortable than he ought to be.

“Tight-lipped, are we?” She said it under her breath almost, as if speaking some private commentary between herself and her viewers. It was a clear challenge, but Bård wasn’t riled enough to give himself away.

“My brother and I have always been very private about our personal lives. We don’t think it’s necessary or fair to bring our families under scrutiny. _We_ chose this lifestyle, not them.”

“Now see, that’s interesting. Right then you said, ‘My brother and I,’ when I was just asking about you. Are you still doing that? Is it hard for you to answer for yourself and not your brother as well?” There it was, the sharp wit she was known for. He would be able to appreciate it more if it wasn’t directed toward intruding on things he wouldn’t even discuss with himself.

“It’s a habit, I guess,” he responded, voice flat. It only worked to fuel her energy.

“How involved is your brother in your life still, would you say?”

“Like I said, we like to keep our family life private—”

“But I wasn’t asking about your family, I was asking about Vegard, who did choose a ‘lifestyle under scrutiny,’ to use your words.” He realized then the mistake he made. He should have gone with her direction, let her ask whatever innocuous questions about his family that she wanted. But he had refused, and she declared war. He saw that if she wasn’t going to get his personal story, she was going to get a scandalous one at the very least. “Or are you saying that he’s not a part of this lifestyle anymore? Does this mean Vegard is officially retired from show business?”

“I—I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

“Well, given you have your own show now it seems like ‘Ylvis’ is over.” She put the name in air quotes, like they were barely an entity to begin with.

“No. We’re just on a break.” She smiled lightly and Bård could see the wheels turning in her head.

“Is it true you are currently the only one with a contract with TV Norge?”

“…Yes.” He wondered nervously just how much research she had done.

“So, were your brother to return home, after completing his tour which is in…?”

“Six months,” Bård supplied.

“Six months – were he to return home and want to do television again, would he join your show or start his own?”

“I’m not sure,” Bård said, eyes flicking to the side. She narrowed her gaze, and it felt like she had won a round of chess he didn’t know he was playing.

“Interesting.” She let it hang in the air, and Bård couldn’t stand to linger in that space.

“These—these are things we’re going to figure out when the war is over.” It felt like he was making excuses, like he was a child being caught in a lie and over-explaining himself.

“Ah, well yes, the war. It’s still going on, after all. As someone who is affected personally by it, how do you feel about Norway's involvement?"

"Well I can't say I enjoy it."

"Of course. But politically speaking, what's your stance?" There were a few rules of PR, and those were to avoid the topics of politics and religion at all costs. Normally he was content to ignore all standard media conventions, but his defenses were failing him and he needed any and all tactics to escape her trap.

"I'd really rather not get into it, but the sooner the fighting ends the better."

"Are you aware that the prime minister met with parliament yesterday to discuss further cooperation with the NATO military agenda?" She said it on the trail end of his words, like she had been waiting for him to say it all along. But when her words really did sink in, Bård felt cold; the entire room of cameramen, producers, and assistants all fading away. For a moment Vegard’s tired, pale face flashed in front of his eyes before he was pulled back into the vacuum of Ms. Olsen’s gaze.

"No, I was not aware."

"They propose to increase conscription numbers by 15% and lengthen active service tours up to two years." Ms. Olsen’s vague, unemotional expression irritated him endlessly.  

"Well that's fucking stupid," Bård said into the hands on his lap.

"I'm sorry?" He looked up to see her inquisitive, contrived expression.

"I said, that's fucking stupid." 

"How so?" She cocked her head to the side, brow furrowing.

"Because we shouldn't be involved in this war in the first place."

"You're aware of how military treaties work, Mr. Ylvisåker?"

"Yes I know how treaties work but I also know you shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong." He was only vaguely aware he was on television anymore, merely responding to her patronizing tone with what social restraint he had left.

"Strong words, Mr. Ylvisåker." He felt heat rising up his neck, barely withheld fury coursing up his veins.

"This war is pointless and won't end until the US and China can get over themselves and finish it. Meanwhile, little countries like ours who are bound by 'military cooperation' pay the price. The Americans can throw their lives away if they want, but not us."

“So for the record, you're saying you don’t support the war?”

“No, I don't.”

“And you don’t support the troops, either?” she offered, though Bård could barely see or hear her. He just kept seeing his brother worn, exhausted, getting thinner and thinner, and fully realizing how helpless he was to stop it. “Mr. Ylvisåker?”

“No,” he blurted out.

"Well, that's all the time we have- thank you again Mr. Ylvisåker. His new show will air Wednesdays at 10 PM starting June 2nd on TV Norge. Back to you, Marte."

The director yelled cut and the crew hurried to ready the next segment. Ms. Olsen spoke to a producer in a low voice, face full of pride. She rose from her chair, following the producer's lead, before looking over her shoulder one last time.

"Thanks again," she smiled, voice even. Bård could only sit and stare at her retreating form.

The repercussions of his words hit him in waves. It would certainly hit headlines tomorrow: _Bård Ylvisåker Condemns Military Efforts Despite Army Brother._

It was bad. He fucked up, and there was no one to blame but himself—not even Anne Olsen. She may have coaxed him, planned the setup to always be three moves ahead of his responses, but he didn't have to play along. Then he remembered how Vegard said he’d try to watch as it aired if he could manage it. He prayed something more terrible in the world had occupied his time.

 

* * *

 

The call rang for an unsettling amount of time. He knew Vegard was there, was free; they had discussed it the last time they spoke. But that was before. It was three days after the interview and Bård hadn’t heard a word from anyone on Vegard’s side. Helene was nonresponsive, ignoring all calls and texts from both Bård and his wife. 

His laptop beeped rhythmically, dragging on in the silence of Bård’s office at home. He ached for the tension held up inside him to be diffused, and the only way was to speak to his brother. He didn’t care how mad he was. Vegard had forgiven him for worse in the past. He couldn’t think of a specific example, but he was sure he must have.

After several minutes of uninterrupted ringing, the call connected. Vegard appeared on the screen, laptop resting on his legs. His gaze was far off, and he didn’t say a word. Bård began to wonder if the connection was bad.

“Vegard?”

“Yeah,” he responded. His voice was distant—already a bad sign.

“Hi…”

“Hi.” Bård waited for him to continue with something, anything, but it became clear that their conversation would be like pulling teeth.

“How are you?”

“Tired.” Bård could tell Vegard was controlling his every word, every emotion. It was a careful façade of disinterest that he put on, but Bård knew all of his brother’s tricks and defensives, and more importantly, how to break them.

“Sorry,” Bård offered. Vegard shrugged, looking at his surroundings. “Are you mad at me?” It earned him a sigh, just as he knew it would.

“It’s fine, Bård.”

“So you are mad at me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” It was taking longer than usual for him to crack. Bård thought he must be truly upset if his resolve was lasting even this long.

“Yes it does.” Vegard chewed on his lip, refusing to add anything. “I’m sorry if I offended you, I was—”

“Bård, please, I don’t want to do this. Not yet.”

“We’re going to have to do it eventually, so can we just talk about this now?”

“I don’t want to talk—at all.” Vegard’s sharp words felt like a hard smack to his face.

“Then why did you even pick up the call?” Bård tried to reign in his anger, but was doing a poor job of it. Vegard looked like he was going to respond, but just sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Bård noted how short it was now, the curls all cut off to adhere to the standard army issue. It would remind him of a young Vegard, if he didn’t look so unnaturally old.

“I don’t know.” Frustration, or was it panic, was rising in Bård. He was always able to rely on the fact that no matter the argument or how angry they were, they were family. They worked together and saw each other almost every day. The next time they came together their anger would be calmed, and the familiar ease of forgiveness would settle between them. Except now was different. There was nothing forcing them to interact, nothing making Vegard forgive and forget. Every time they spoke to one another the stakes were raised, and for Bård the tension was unbearable.

“This isn’t like other times when we fight. If you shut me out, that’s it. I can’t reach you to make it better.” Vegard looked down, and the lighting revealed sickly-colored circles under his eyes. He looked like hell and it was taking everything in Bård not to start begging his brother to just talk to him. “I really, really hate fighting with you.”

“Then start thinking before you open your fucking mouth for once.” Vegard was still looking down, but it was a start. Bård knew that he needed to get under his brother’s skin if they were going to get anywhere.

“See? There we go, progress. What else do you want to say to me?”

“I’m not going to talk about this right now.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just going to say something I regret. I need time to cool off.” The complacency, the resign in his tone spelled trouble for Bård. He didn’t want his brother to be angry, but shoving it under the surface wasn’t going to make it go away.

“There’s a fine line between ‘cooling off’ and ‘stewing.’”

“Just drop it, Bård.” At last he was rousing Vegard’s temper.

“No.”

“Fuck it, I’m hanging up.” Direct confrontation was the only option left.

“Look I only said it because I was upset, alright? She kept saying how they were going to keep you away for longer, and I couldn’t—”

“Oh don’t act like that was for me, that was about you.” Bård was genuinely taken aback. There was only one person Bård was thinking of during his interview and it definitely wasn’t himself.

“What? No it wasn’t, why would—”

“Yes it was, Bård. Everything you said was about you and making yourself feel better by whining about how unfair everything is. If you had actually thought about me, and what it’s really like here _for me_ , you would have fucking kept your mouth shut.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Their voices raised and Bård braced himself for the oncoming storm.

“Look, it’s fucking hard over here for me, okay? Nobody respects me. I don’t even want to be here, I don’t belong here, but if I’m going to be trapped here I want it to be as easy as possible. And my life doesn’t get easy when you start running your mouth off, shitting on everything we’re doing over here. We’re risking our lives everyday for you—”

“But that’s just it. I don’t want you to be risking your life for me.”

“ _We don’t have a choice, Bård!_ Do you think any man out here really wants to be away from his family? To be out shooting at we don’t know what for we don’t know why? We don’t get to sit at home and complain about the morality of it. We go out there, and we die, and the rest of us come back and say, ‘Well that’s too bad, he was nice. Now what’s for dinner tonight?’”

“I—”

“We’re the ones with the fucking nightmares, I’m the one waking up screaming, so don’t for a second complain about how hard you have it or how worried you are. I’m here _for you_ , so you could try being fucking appreciative.” The harsh truth in his words stung Bård, and his voice caught in his throat before he could sputter his apology.   

“I am. I am, sorry. I just don’t like you being there. It scares me to see you like this. You look worse every time I see you. And what you just said, that’s my whole point. People are dying and that means you’re not safe. I can’t support something that makes you not safe.” Vegard shook his head, letting it rest in his hands.

“You just don’t get it, Bård. We don’t need someone telling us we’re doing this for nothing, or that it’s pointless. If we’re going to die we want to at least think we’re dying for a reason.” Bård was silenced again, before his last ditch efforts at defense kicked in.

“I thought you said you were going to be able to fly. Why didn’t you just take the flight test?”

“I took the flight test already,” Vegard spat back. “It was perfect, I did better than some of their own fucking pilots but they still won’t let me get in a plane. It’s this fucking bureaucracy, I swear to god I’m losing my mind here.” The sinking feeling Bård felt at his words was only paralleled by the look on Vegard’s own face. They were both losing hope rapidly, and Bård had to fight the corners of his mouth from turning down.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Vegard.” Vegard sat back against the wall, exhaling noisily as he did. “What do I need to do to make it better? What do I need to do for you to forgive me?” Bård was never one to beg, but if a situation ever called for it, it was definitely now. Vegard sighed, eyes rolling in resignation.

“You don’t need to do anything. You’re entitled to your feelings as much as I am,” he spoke to the floor. “I just—” He hissed out a frustrated groan. “I just wish you would think sometimes. Just for one second, think things through.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. That fucking woman was just grilling me about us, and the war…”

“I’ll admit, she was pretty brutal.” Vegard’s eyes trailed back to the screen.

“And then there’s the show, and the pressure to—”

“Oh god, not this again.” Vegard threw up his hands and slapped them back down on his lap, shaking his head in that ‘ _I’m so finished with your stupidity_ ’ way he always did. “For the last time Bård, your show is going to be good.”

“I know.” Bård’s quick response caught them both off guard.

“Oh. That’s…good. I’m glad.” Vegard was choosing his words carefully, Bård knew. For all Vegard tried to convince him he wasn’t fragile he sure treated him like he was sometimes.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m actually pretty excited about it.” Bård didn’t fully realize how true that was until he said it. He was excited. Only until now, admitting it would have felt like bragging. It sort of still did.

“Well you should be. It’s exciting.” A subtle smile played on Vegard’s lips. It was contagious, and Bård had to stop himself from grinning like the proud idiot he was.

“Yeah I just, I don’t know, it took a little getting used to I guess. But you have to take the training wheels off sometime.” Vegard huffed a quiet laugh that Bård returned with a smile. Bård let the moment linger until his brother found comfort in the silence. He could tell by the way his shoulders slumped and he rested his head back against the wall. His eyes gazed down his nose to the screen before his head lolled forward with purpose.

“Look, you want to do something for me?” Bård nodded. “Think twice, and I mean _really think_ before you say stuff on TV.” Vegard let his smile slip and Bård released a breath he’d been holding.

“Okay. That I can do.”

“And I need you to allow me some vulnerability sometimes.” The calm honesty in his brother’s voice made Bård uncomfortable, but a few minutes of discomfort wasn’t nearly enough penance for his transgression. “Realistically, I’m always going to be at risk when I’m here. What I don’t need is the guilt of knowing you’re sitting at home wringing your hands and lashing out because you can’t handle the stress of it.”

“I’m not wringing my hands, Vegard.” Bård reverted back to his petulant tone, the one they were both so used to, and the ease of it soothed them.

“Good. Because you need to start worrying about yourself. But don’t actually worry about yourself, because you’re fine.” Vegard furrowed his brow at the same time Bård did.

“What?” Bård laughed through his confusion and Vegard chuckled into his hand.

“Oh god, I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“Yeah I don’t either.”

“I just mean that you should focus on yourself, but not so much that you psych yourself out.”

“Okay.”

“ _Okay?_ ” It was like he was six again, being scolded for taking his brother’s things without permission.

“Yes, okay, gosh Vegard.”

Bård really shouldn’t have worried. Distance didn’t define them when they lived three miles apart, thick as thieves, nor when they were thousands of miles apart and at each other’s throats. Blood and the undeniable need for peace in one another would always trump whatever petty dispute plagued them, because the truth was that neither could really be happy if the other was not. Bård tried to remember that for the next time they fought while his brother was away, if only for the comfort of how easy it would be to make up when he was finally safe at home.

 

* * *

 

The show’s premiere went well. Better than Bård could have hoped for. The guests were two young up-and-coming actresses, who held their own despite their lack of experience in the genre. The reviews were mixed, most saying there was something to be desired in the way of chemistry, but overall it was positive.

The most sterling review came from his brother. Vegard watched live, despite the four-hour time difference; even sat down his entire platoon and made them watch too. The next time they spoke Vegard beamed with pride, recalling his favorite moments to Bård. 

It felt like a balm on an open wound, hearing his brother laugh sincerely. For the first time he didn’t feel guilty about his show if it could make Vegard this happy. He could be happier if Vegard were home, doing the show with him, but Bård was training himself to think realistically. He was learning to appreciate the little victories that now came so seldomly. Humor was really all they ever had in defense against the unjust world, and if Bård could make his brother laugh, he could shelter him in some tiny way from the war that was determined to snuff him out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So once I finally found out the dates for when they lived in Africa, I had already written a large portion of this and there was no going back. But it's fiction, and the concept is the same regardless of dates, so we're just going to roll with it people.

“And then there’s this one.” Vegard tilted his jaw to the camera, showing off a splotch of bruised skin to his brother. “Totally my fault, hit myself in the face with the butt of my gun when I was trying to take it off.” 

“You idiot,” Bård laughed. It truly looked like it hurt, but he was relieved it was only the result of Vegard’s own clumsiness. Bård leaned closer to his screen to look at it; just one of the many cuts and bruises Vegard was showing off with a sort of morbid delight.

“Now wait, this is the worst one.” He pulled down the strap of his black undershirt, revealing a dark, 3-inch wide strip of purple skin running down his shoulder. Bård cringed and hissed at the sight of it. Vegard grinned, “Right? That’s just from the strap.”

“Fucking hell.”

“And I’d give you a run for your money with fucked up necks. I have to sleep with my gun under my pillow, and it’s absolutely ruining…” He stretched and rolled his neck, Adam’s apple protruding under the flesh. He paused mid-motion, “Did you hear that?”

“No,” Bård chuckled.

“Well trust me, it’s bad.” Bård took his word for it. Vegard didn’t need to prove that he was worse for wear. He could see it all over his face, even without the obvious injuries. Through the grainy picture he could spot the salt and pepper color his hair had adopted, and its short length only served to accentuate how gaunt he looked.

“You’re really taking a beating from that thing, aren’t you?”

“She’s my abusive girlfriend.” He lifted his gun up and kissed the long barrel with a smile. “All she does is hurt me, but I can’t live without her.” Bård laughed despite the underlying morbidity. For a moment the light returned to Vegard’s eyes, when a stern voice called out _Ylvisåker_ , catching the attention of them both.

Vegard looked sharply to his left and lowered the lid of the laptop, covering part of the camera. Bård was then only privy to the view of his brother’s knees and the muffled sounds of Vegard and another man. He did his best to inhibit his alarm. They probably just wanted to ask him something. Even though Vegard was on a break. And it was the middle of the night. He’d be fine.

Bård snapped his head up from his worried thoughts as Vegard lifted the screen back to his face.

“I have to go. I’ll call you right back,” he whispered into the camera before the connection was lost.

Bård waited for forty minutes. And then another twenty-five. Just in case.

It was an hour and thirty-six minutes before Bård’s computer began ringing. He had dozed off, just for a minute, or maybe ten, and knocked his mouse off the desk trying to answer the call in his daze.

Eventually he managed to connect the call, and was greeted by Vegard’s face. He looked strange.

“What happened? What’s going on?” Bård fought the sleep out of his voice, remembering the odd circumstance they had left on.

“They wanted to talk to me about the pilot program.” Vegard sounded far away, and his tone preoccupied Bård so that he almost didn’t register what he said.

“Oh. _Oh_ , damn. Okay. Well what did they say?”

“They said they want to assign me to a detail with a few other pilots.”

“What does that mean?” Bård didn’t want to get his hopes up, and was a little confused by the reaction Vegard was having. It couldn’t mean what he thought it could, could it?

“It means I’d be flying my own plane. It’d be some kind of special assignment with a few other officers, I’m not exactly sure what though.”

“That’s great! That’s amazing.” Bård beamed, a giddy feeling spreading through his chest.

“Thanks.” Vegard still seemed distracted, and his brother knew all too well what that meant.

“What?” Bård asked, voice full of resignation.

“Hm? What do you mean what?” Vegard still feigned enthusiasm, and Bård was losing patience quickly.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. It’s good. This is good.”

“But…?”

“But…” Bård stayed silent, willing his brother to continue, and Vegard complied with a sigh. “They take this stuff really seriously. They’re worried about spying and hackers, so they don’t want me communicating while I’m on assignment. With anyone. At all.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s okay.” Bård felt a surge of irritation pass through him. He understood why his brother was less than enthused, but he refused to dampen his own excitement.

“Is it?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fine. How long does an assignment last?”

“I don’t know. It depends on the mission, how many people are assigned to the detail…it could be a week to a few months.”

“Wow.” Bård swallowed, suppressing every selfish thought that ran through his mind.

“Yeah.” His tone and gaze communicated to Bård in a way only he could read. The careful way he spoke, his barely deviated gaze; he was overwhelmed. Bård thought back to the bruise on Vegard’s shoulder, wide and dark with no hope of healing as things were. It was enough to reign in his focus.

“Well whatever. As long as you’re out of there, right?” Vegard hesitated. “Right?”

“Right.” Vegard wasn’t convinced, Bård knew it. But he would fix that.

“Vegard,” he warned.

“Huh?”

“This isn’t bad news.” He said it slow, like he was talking to a child.

“I know. I know, it’s great, honestly.” He added a grossly forced smile at the end. In what world Vegard thought he would buy that, Bård didn’t know.

“You don’t look happy about it.” The smile lowered carefully.

“It just doesn’t feel real, I guess.” Vegard looked around him, eyes darting from one thing to the next in the room Bård had never really seen. “I’m actually going to be getting out of here.” There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. Bård let him lose himself in it for a few moments, knowing to tread carefully as he proceeded.

“When does it start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. They made you wait long enough, for fuck’s sake.” Vegard cleared his throat, the sadness settling in again.

“Yeah.”

“Vegard, look. I know it sucks, that you can’t talk to anyone, but do this and you can come home faster. With less incident too, most likely.”

“I guess—I don’t know. I suppose I’ve been using calls home as a sort of buffer for all this. Not having that anymore is disappointing, is all.”

“Vegard, you don’t need to call to talk to me. We’re telepathic, you and I, remember?”

“Ha, sure.” His laugh was hollow, a current of disappointment still running through it.

“No really. Next time your sergeant is being a dick, just send a quick ‘cocksucker’ over the Mind Wire and I’ll get it. And I’ll send back a mental image of him in women’s lingerie, and you can have a nice laugh over that. Or maybe that’s what you’re into, I’m not sure.” Laughter sputtered out of Vegard’s mouth against his will, and Bård followed right after.

“You’re so stupid.”

“Hey, I know there aren’t a lot of women over there. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?”

“You’re one to talk, Bård, Mr. Dress-Up-Queen.”  

“I just do what feels right. It’s freeing, you ought to try it some time.”

“I miss you a lot.” It came out of nowhere, grin still plastered on his face as he said it. Bård felt his stomach clench, and nervous laughter bubbled out of his mouth.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know. It’s just different now.” His eyes darted to the floor. “Being here…I can’t afford to be afraid anymore. Not of the good things.” He lifted his gaze, looking right at him—into him—through the screen. Bård felt a little smile pull at his mouth despite himself. “ _I love you, little brother,”_ Vegard said in that mocking voice he loved to pull.

“Oh god, cut it out,” he spat back, wide grin betraying him.

“Come on, tell me you love me,” Vegard goaded.

“Fuck off.” Bård tried his hardest to keep a straight face, he really did.

“I know you do, just say it. ‘It’s freeing,’ as you say. Trust me. Let it out. Let the love wash over you.” The sweetness was becoming too thick and Bård ran out of ways to hint at _I can’t tell you I love you because I mean it too much_.

“Shouldn’t you call your wife or something?” There, the perfection deflection. Bård held onto his own smile as the panic in his chest was settled by deadening regret. Vegard’s face changed to one of realization.

“Shit, you’re right. I should probably do that now, it’s getting late over here. People will give me hell in the morning if I keep them up all night talking.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call you when I can.” Vegard’s eyes wandered over the screen, looking at something Bård couldn’t see. His fingers typed on the keyboard, focus now gone.

“Okay.” There were a million things he wanted to say. The line between couldn’t and wouldn’t was very very thin at that moment. Vegard probably hadn’t even heard him out loud, and there was no way their psychic connection could cut through the babble that raced through his head. Vegard looked up again, fingers stilling as he settled back to the wall behind him.

“ _I love you, Bård_ ,” he said again in his mocking voice. Bård rolled his eyes.

“Go call your wife.”

“Okay, bye.” Vegard flashed him a distracted smile. Bård returned it.

“Bye.”

 

* * *

 

Beijing was hit, badly. Leading up to the bombing, NATO forces announced they were going to up the ante, finish the war with every bit of fire the world held. After Beijing, they were expecting mass retaliation, all-out mayhem, and they were ready for it. But nothing came. Two months went by without major incident as the world held its collective breath. News outlets frenzied, first declaring cold war, then virtual victory, but the powers that be knew better. Both sides held their guard, waiting, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

With the two months of global inactivity came two months of silence from his brother. He was left to trust that no news meant good news. All Bård knew was that as long as his brother was away, it wasn’t over. The world would be chaos as long as Vegard was still gone and would stay that way until he could feel comfortable in his usual expressions of affection—until he could feel comfortable hurting him again. He wondered now if the day would ever truly come.

 

* * *

 

>  Bård had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes. That was a new record. Over the past week and a half he was waiting longer and longer outside his brother’s high school for him to walk through the front gates. When they first moved back to Norway, Vegard was always at the gate right at 4 PM, waiting for the staff to unlock the gates so he could rush out to his bike and meet Bård. His own middle school got out at 3, and for the most part he spent that hour alone, riding around the block of Vegard’s school until he heard the bell. Today he did three more laps of the block after it rang and still no Vegard.
> 
> Just when he was beginning to give up and ride home on his own, Vegard casually strolled through the gates, nodding in Bård’s direction as he made his way to the bike rack. Irritation flickered in Bård, but he pressed it down with a sigh and glided to his brother.
> 
> “Where were you?” Bård asked.
> 
> “Huh? What do you mean?” Vegard barely lifted his eyes to glance at him. His mind was elsewhere, and it was bothering Bård to no end.
> 
> “I mean where were you. I’ve been waiting out here forever.”
> 
> “I never said you had to wait for me.”
> 
> “What were you doing?”
> 
> “Just talking to people, Bård. _Friends_ , you know? Or maybe you wouldn’t.” Bård sucked in a breath hard and slow, reigning in every urge he had to punch his brother (he had been scolded too many times for doing that in public in the past). Instead, he steered his bike away from Vegard and started pedaling slow in the opposite direction. “Oh come on, Bård. I was just joking.”
> 
> Bård braked, waiting with his back turned. It was probably too much to expect an apology, but he wanted his brother to feel a little bad. He never thought he would regret confessing to Vegard that he was having a hard time making friends at school as much as he did. He listened to the gentle clicks of the bike’s chain as his brother rode up to him. Vegard stopped his bike just beside him, looking at him with a gentle, encouraging smile.
> 
> “Do you want to check out that street on the other side of Heien Road?” Bård asked, frown still fixed and voice coated with disinterest.
> 
> “Eh, I don’t know, Bård. Maybe not today, it’s getting late.”
> 
> “But you promised that we would! Yesterday you said if we went home at five then we could go up the next block today.” Every air of apathy he feigned was gone in an instant, and just how upset he was lay vulnerable in front of his brother. Vegard rolled his eyes, throwing his head back in frustration. “You _promised_ ,” Bård stressed. Vegard met his glare and groaned in resign.
> 
> “Fine. But we need to get back by six at the very least.”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> “The dance? At the community center? We need time to get ready and eat before we leave.”
> 
> “Ugh, fine.” Vegard pedaled at top speed away from his brother, leaving Bård calling after him as his feet slipped off the pedals in his haste.
> 
> Bård didn’t understand why his brother was this excited about a stupid dance anyway. It was just going to be a bunch of other kids they didn’t know, or knew and didn’t like, and Vegard wasn’t even good at dancing. It’s not like he was trying to talk to girls, because the place would be crawling with chaperones, and the only girl Vegard had talked to in the past year was the one who worked at the corner store—who he couldn’t look in the eyes without sweating.
> 
> Bård caught up to him quickly, mostly because Vegard had given up racing ahead. They made for the main road that had all the busy traffic, heading to the sprawling suburb that lay beyond.
> 
> He wasn’t sure whose idea it was, but sometime that summer before school started they took it upon themselves to explore every bit of the neighborhood within biking distance. It was definitely Vegard’s idea to go about it in the methodical way they did: mapping out their route and allocating a certain amount of streets to cover each day. They left in the late afternoons, making sure to come back just in time for dinner. But as summer ended and fall blended into winter, they had to come back earlier and earlier as the light left them. These days, they were lucky to cover one or two streets with how far out they had to ride.
> 
> He supposed it started with their mutual fascination with a real neighborhood. The houses themselves weren’t all that different, but there were no chain link fences surrounding blocks of them, no dirt roads that led into dry wilderness beyond—just sprawling paved streets and homes surrounded by nothing but civility. It was a drastic change, and one of the few that they welcomed.
> 
> What they weren’t as happy with was the sheer amount of other kids their age there were to talk to—they just didn’t know how. They gave up early on trying to hang out with the others when they didn’t have a clue what movies, TV shows, or music they were constantly referencing. And in turn, spending all your time with your equally awkward brother generally made the other kids not want to talk to you either.
> 
> So they did this instead. They rode around on their bikes, looking at houses, Vegard making comments about the architecture and planning, Bård only sometimes listening. What those late afternoons really were, were the only times that Bård actually felt comfortable anymore. They both had wanted so badly to move back to Norway, but they never realized how lonely _home_ could feel. There in the cooling air Bård didn’t have to think, didn’t have to worry why he wasn’t making the friends he thought he would, or why no one in the whole wide world seemed to understand him quite like his brother. And he thought the same was true for Vegard, until recently when his brother started making friends of his own. Saying he was in denial would be an exaggeration, but Bård was doing everything in his power to ignore how inadequate that fact was making him feel.
> 
> When they finally reached Heien Road, Vegard had all but forgotten his ‘suffering older brother’ spiel.  They cruised down the street, houses getting bigger and fancier as the neighborhood nestled closer to the mountains, while Vegard rattled off facts about the types of roofs they were using.
> 
> “Oh look at that one Bård, it’s an asymmetrical salt-box roof. And that’s probably a stainless steel covering they have over the garage too. A salt-box roof means that—”
> 
> “Do you miss Africa?” Bård cut him off.
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Do you miss it?” His breath was quickening, and he didn’t know why. He only knew he needed the answer, and had a vague idea of what he wanted it to be.
> 
> “No,” Vegard answered firmly.
> 
> “You don’t miss anything?” He considered it for a moment.
> 
> “I wouldn’t say I _miss_ it. There are things here that aren’t as good maybe, but I wouldn’t go that far.”
> 
> “Like what?” Bård stopped his bike in the middle of the empty road. Vegard didn’t notice right away, and braked quick when turned beside him and his brother wasn’t there. He looked back at Bård, exasperated.
> 
> “What? What are you asking me now, Bård?”
> 
> “Like what; what isn’t as good over here as it was there?” he called to Vegard, who huffed just a foot or two ahead.
> 
> “I don’t know, Bård, why?” Vegard was losing patience, voice argumentative. Bård just shrugged and rolled up beside his brother again. “Do you miss it?” Vegard asked, voice cautious. There was a hint of hope in his voice, like he was searching for some kind of answer or confession from him. But Bård shied away.
> 
> “I don’t know.” Bård averted his gaze, and Vegard’s anger returned, pedaling quickly on.
> 
> “We should go home. It’s getting late and we’ll have to leave soon.” Bård didn’t say anything, just followed him a few feet behind.
> 
> He felt like there was some test he didn’t pass. He didn’t know why or what he had done, but all he ever seemed to do anymore was disappoint his brother. Even so, he couldn’t help himself from clinging on tighter, never ever wanting to relinquish his grip. He rode up beside Vegard, keeping his pace the rest of the way home.
> 
> ∫
> 
>  “Who are you going to the dance with Bård?” their mother asked, chasing peas around her plate. Her, Bård and Vegard ate dinner in relative silence until that point, an indescribable tension surrounding the brothers. Vegard seemed lost in his own thoughts since they got back from their ride, and Bård thought he would let him cool off by keeping his distance. He didn’t know what else to make of it, but they’d get to the dance and then everything would be fine again.
> 
> “What do you mean?” Bård asked, swallowing a lump of potatoes. “I’m going with Vegard.” Vegard’s fork clinked down on his plate and he paused mid chew. Both his mother’s head and his own turned to Vegard, who looked Bård square in the eyes.
> 
> “No you’re not,” he said, words obstructed by the food in his mouth.
> 
> “What?” Bård thought he must not have heard him right. Vegard swallowed.
> 
> “No, you’re not. You’re not going with me.” There was no mistaking the stern panic in his voice.
> 
> “But you said earlier—”
> 
> “I said we were both going, but I didn’t mean I was going to hang out with you.” Vegard held his glare on his little brother, and Bård watched his careful breathing as he tried to make sense of the sudden offense.
> 
> “Why not?” Bård sounded younger than he was; Vegard swallowed again without taking a bite.
> 
> “I have friends now, okay? Cool friends, that are my age. This is a big deal. After tonight, I’ll officially be part of their group. I’m not going to let you screw it up.”
> 
> “Vegard,” their mother chided.
> 
> “Who? Who are your friends?” Bård sneered, crossing his arms.
> 
> “You wouldn’t know them.”
> 
> “Are they those stupid kids I saw you talking to after school the other day? What’s that one kid’s name, Arne?” Vegard scoffed, leaning back from the table.
> 
> “Arne? No way, Geir hates that guy, he’s not allowed to hang out with us.”
> 
> “ _Geir_? That’s Bjørn’s older brother, I know him. Now that guy is an _actual_ idiot.”
> 
> “Bård, that’s not nice to say,” their mother interrupted. Her posture became increasingly rigid as their argument went on.
> 
> “No he’s not.” Vegard waited too long to defend him, a clear sign he didn’t really believe it. “And you’re one to talk,” he murmured with a smirk.
> 
> “Shut up!” Bård was never going to let his brother see his grades again, that was for sure.
> 
> “Bård! Watch your language.” She stared him down and the brothers fell silent. Their mother resumed eating; the sound of a knife scraping a plate was the only thing heard. Both boys were unable to swallow the tension.
> 
> “Whatever, you can’t stop me from talking to you when we’re there,” Bård spoke. Vegard smacked his hand on the table, exploding again.
> 
> “You better not, Bård.”
> 
> “I will. I’ll just follow you around the entire time until they all ditch you.”
> 
> “I’m _not_ hanging out with you, Bård, leave me alone.”
> 
> “You can’t make me,” Bård leaned forward, taunting his brother—a skill he was rather practiced at.
> 
> “Shut up, Bård!” Vegard stood and stomped his foot. “Mom, tell him! Tell him he’s not allowed to bother me tonight!” Bård smiled, confident in his mother’s favoritism towards himself.
> 
> “Bård, I think your brother’s right. You should give him some space.”
> 
> “ _What?_ ” He turned to her, keen hurt in his eyes. She reached her hand across to him, a sympathetic expression on her face.
> 
> “Vegard needs to live his life a little. It’s just for one night. Maybe you can meet some people on your own too.”
> 
> “I don’t want to meet other people. I don’t like them.” He didn’t want to sound like he was begging for permission to hang out with his own brother, but he didn’t know how else to get around it.
> 
> “How can you say that if you don’t try? Hm?” Bård scowled while his brother remained standing, tapping his foot at a rapid pace. “Now go wash up you two. No one’s going anywhere until these dishes are sparkling.”
> 
> Vegard rolled his eyes and walked fast into the kitchen. Bård was reluctant to follow. He didn’t even want to go anymore, and maybe if he refused to cooperate then Vegard wouldn’t be able to go either. But he still held out hope that he could convince him otherwise, and trudged into the kitchen with heavy steps.
> 
> They stood beside each other, silent, Vegard scrubbing furiously at food stuck to the plates before passing them to Bård for rinsing. Their sentiments may have been unaligned, but nothing could interrupt their innate rhythm. The TV in the other room echoed the sound of a game show their mother was watching, while Bård tried to think of the best thing to say to change his brother’s mind.
> 
> “You know that it’s a bad thing, spending time together constantly.” Vegard spoke quietly, glancing in the direction of the living room. They knew yelling at each other again would be bad news for them both. “We’re _supposed_ to be making other friends. That’s what normal people do. Do you think I _want_ to always hang out with my 12 year old brother?”
> 
> Bård had never really thought about whether he actually enjoyed hanging out with Vegard; there was no other alternative. But in the three seconds he took to pause before responding, he decided that yes, despite everything, he did enjoy his brother’s company. And now Vegard said he didn’t, and it hurt.
> 
> “Whatever, I don’t want to hang out with you either.” Bård felt embarrassed he couldn’t think of a better comeback.
> 
> “Yeah, sure. Just try and make an effort tonight, will you? I’m not going to waste my opportunity at being normal because I have to babysit you.”
> 
> “I don’t want to be friends with any of them,” Bård growled. It wasn’t really true, but he was tired of trying, and Vegard’s companionship was the easiest thing in the world.
> 
> “Fine, then sit in the corner like a loser, see if I care. But don’t expect me to come rescue you or let you hang out with my friends, because I won’t.”
> 
> “Fine.”
> 
> “Okay.”
> 
> Vegard passed the last dish over and wiped his hands on the rag atop the counter. He left Bård alone to finish the job. He rinsed the rest of the plates, stare fixed on the sickly yellow tile above the sink. He was going to hate the night, he knew it. If Vegard was being this demanding it meant it had to be important. Knowing that Vegard thought separating himself from Bård was of the utmost importance made Bård cringe. He wanted to hide, or hit something, but neither was going to happen.
> 
> ∫
> 
> It looked just as stupid as Bård thought it would. The auditorium floor was cleared out with tables spaced around the sides, off-brand sodas and chips sitting lamely on top. There were far less people than Bård expected there to be, and it made it all the more difficult to avoid his brother like he demanded.            
> 
> It was mostly people Bård’s age, quite a few of his classmates standing in the center of the auditorium, dancing to some song Bård didn’t know. He listened to the radio as much as he could, drinking in every bit of new music after being deprived for so long, but there were still so many gaps in his knowledge. Two chaperones leaned idly against the far wall, speaking to one another occasionally and smirking. The man with the mustache would point at one of the kids, and the woman in the hideous aqua dress would snicker back. Bård stepped behind a table, not wanting to be the victim of teasing from adults and his peers alike.
> 
> Vegard was on the other side of the auditorium, standing on the outer ring of a circle of older kids. They all listened to the tallest boy, who leaned his head down and appeared to be whispering conspiratorially. Their leader, Geir, said something and their heads swiveled to the punch bowl near the speakers. They were definitely planning something, and it only made sense since high school kids didn’t go to middle school community center functions without a reason. What surprised Bård was that Vegard wanted to be a part of it.
> 
> Two of Bård’s classmates walked up to the table he stood behind, grabbing plates to load chips onto. He recognized the girl with the long blond hair from his neighborhood too. Relatively speaking, she was one of the nicer ones. She caught his eyes before Bård could look away.
> 
> “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
> 
> “Um, what? Nothing,” Bård sputtered. Her friend looked at him then, and Bård’s nerves scrambled under their gaze.  
> 
> “I just meant you look really miserable, that’s all.” Bård looked at his shoes, unsure whether to lie, or fake a smile, or say anything at all.
> 
> “Why aren’t you dancing?” her friend asked.
> 
> “I don’t know the song…” Bård replied, sheepish. It was that, and that if they thought he was lame now, he feared what they would do after they saw him dance.
> 
> “What do you mean? Everyone knows this song.” The girls looked at each other, puzzled smiles reaching their lips.
> 
> “Well I don’t.” Bård figured it was better to be mean first before they started laughing at him. They shrugged at one another and walked off to join their friends. It was turning out exactly like Bård knew it would. Vegard was only standing on the other side of the room. Who knows, maybe I can help them with whatever they’re doing, Bård thought.
> 
> He took slow steps to the group, trying to listen to their conversation. The room quieted and darkened as he approached, catching snippets of their plan. Geir mentioned something about the punch and revealed a silver flask from his jacket pocket to the evident delight of the group.
> 
> Vegard stood on the outside, head poking between two other boys and lifting onto his toes in an attempt to get a look at the object. He seemed to laugh just a second out of sync with the others. Bård didn’t know how he could possibly be having a good time like that, but maybe he knew something Bård didn’t. He took his place beside his brother in silence, getting a view from between the arms of the boys in front of him. Completely by accident, he locked eyes with the fat, acne-ridden one across from him. Bård’s eyes widened and the older boy scowled.  
> 
> “Hey, fuck off, kid.” Announcing his presence, the circle opened and exposed Bård between them all. He swallowed a nervous gulp and looked at his brother; Vegard looked mortified at the sight of him. He smiled a bit, doing his best to remain calm.
> 
> “Vegard, what are you guys planning?” He looked only at his brother who seemed to be shrinking away from him.
> 
> “That’s your brother, right?” Geir said to Vegard, catching the attention of the group. “Figures. Looks like annoying dumbasses run in the family.” The group laughed together, but Vegard looked like he hadn’t even heard. Bård might not have had a lot of experience with friends, but he was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to call you stupid—and maybe even do it enough that you stopped noticing. Vegard gripped Bård’s shoulder and shoved him away from them, sending him stumbling back toward the light and noise of the others.  
> 
> “Bård, go away. I’m serious, leave me alone.” He spoke under his breath, like he didn’t want them to be heard. Bård moved toward them again, anger powering his steps.
> 
> Vegard looked over his shoulder at the expectant faces of the others. They were watching the pair, smiles sinking into irritation as Bård approached. Vegard turned back to his brother and stopped him in his tracks.
> 
> “I said, fuck off, Bård.” His voice was loud for everyone to hear him, and placing his hand in the center of Bård’s chest, he pushed him with full force. Bård was unprepared and fell back onto the hard floor.
> 
> The group burst into laughter. Bård looked with shocked eyes to his brother, who bit his lip and restrained his concern. Bård didn’t want to cry, he really didn’t want to cry, and Vegard turned away his worried face for Bård to slink off alone.
> 
> He took up his station behind the chips, watching the group from across the auditorium. Bård cradled his elbow lightly where there was a bruise blooming beneath his shirtsleeve. Vegard never looked back at him, to the point where it seemed purposeful. He still stood on the periphery of the group, chiming in to the apparent displeasure of the others.
> 
> Fury coursed through Bård. Not only did Vegard hurt him to impress a group of idiots, but it didn’t even change anything for his brother. He wondered how desperate Vegard had to be that he would stoop so low for people who treated him so poorly. The boys slowly made their way closer to the punch bowl, getting far too excited for such an easy prank. And yet there he was, the real loser, rejected even by them.
> 
> Bård needed to do something. So with little thought and a pumping heart, he walked up to the group, standing in the way of the table they encroached on.
> 
> “Hey,” Bård said in a volume he knew would catch their attention. They turned their heads; Vegard’s wide eyes didn’t get past Bård. He pressed on regardless, looking directly at Geir. “I want to help you.” Geir walked to him, casting his glance around for onlookers.
> 
> “Will you shut up? Get the fuck out of here, now. Before I make you leave.”
> 
> “No.” Bård looked up, crooked teeth and red face snarling down at him.
> 
> “Bård, just go,” Vegard called from his place in the group. Bård flicked his eyes to him and then away. He couldn’t lose his courage now.
> 
> “You should listen to your idiot brother, you know.”
> 
> “If you don’t let me help you, then I’ll tell the chaperone what you’re doing.” Fury flashed across Geir’s features and Bård took the smallest step back.
> 
> “Say that again, you fucking—”
> 
> “I’ll do it,” Bård warned.
> 
> “Bård, stop, just walk away,” Vegard’s worried voice carried over to him.
> 
> “I’m giving you to 5, got it?” He walked steadily toward him, and Bård retreated with every step he took forward. Geir clenched and unclenched his fist at his side, and only then did Bård wish he had just left his brother alone. “5, 4, 3, 2—” Bård panicked.
> 
> “Hey!” He called out to the adults against the wall, chatting and laughing. “Someone get over here quick bef—”
> 
> Geir’s hand lashed out against the side of Bård’s head, and the words were cut from his mouth.
> 
> “Stop!” Vegard shouted. The group looked to him, obvious shock at his tone. Bård clutched his ear that throbbed and burned as Vegard stepped toward them. He looked Geir dead in the eyes, a frightening look plastered on his face. “Don’t fucking touch him.” Geir challenged him with a smirk.
> 
> “If you kept the little shit in check, then I wouldn’t have to.” He reached out his hand again to strike Bård but Vegard was quicker, slapping Geir’s arm away midair. Bård flinched and felt surprised at the absence of pain—maybe as surprised as the look on Geir’s face.
> 
> “Don’t you dare touch him ever again.” Bård had never seen such anger in his brother’s eyes, his face; his whole body was quivering with it. Vegard was the docile one, always the first to back down and avoid conflict. It didn’t make any sense to Bård, but he didn’t doubt what Vegard would do when he looked like this.
> 
> “What are you going to do about it? Huh?” Geir stepped into Vegard’s space, pushing his shoulders back with beefy hands. Vegard walked backward, eyes still dark with rage. “Nothing? That’s what I thought, you fucking coward—”
> 
> Bård knew Vegard had never punched anyone seriously in his life. Sure he’d roughhoused with Bård plenty of times, but Vegard had never intentionally tried to cause someone severe pain before. His lack of practice was clear, but for what he lacked in form he made up for in intent, driving a startling amount of force from his fist into Geir’s nose.
> 
> He reeled back from the hit, just enough time to realize what had happened, before he launched on Vegard and brought him to the ground. There was frenzied kicking and hitting, and then the others joined in too. Bård was helpless as 5 grown boys, easily with 20 pounds each on Vegard, drove into him, blow after blow connecting with his sides, and face, and legs. Bård didn’t realize he had been screaming out for help until the adults were knocking them out of the way and ripping the boys apart.
> 
> Vegard lay on the ground, coughing and wheezing, blood all around his lips and nose. The woman pulled him up off the ground, slinging his arm around her shoulder. Bård rushed to his side, but his shorter height did little to help support him. The man shouted at everyone to clear out, that the dance was over.
> 
> “Who started this? Who’s responsible?” he shouted between the boys.
> 
> “He is, he hit me first,” Geir pointed to Vegard. Vegard huffed a laugh as best he could, before groaning his taunt.    
> 
> “I can hit you last too, if you want.”
> 
> “Enough!” the man yelled while Geir lunged forward again. Vegard couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and the man pursed his lips at the two of them. “I’m calling your parents. You’re in trouble, both of you.”
> 
> The woman’s grip on Vegard’s sagging form was weakening, and the man pulled Geir along to the exit with an arm around his shoulders.
> 
> “If we ever see you around school, we’ll fucking kick your ass again, do you understand me?” Geir shouted back, wiping the blood from his nose before exiting the auditorium. Vegard panted but didn’t look fazed, and Bård worried doubly for him.
> 
>  
> 
> They waited out on the curb for their mother to pick them up. The cold couldn’t be helping Vegard any, and Bård wished he could do something for him. Vegard still clutched the bloody rag used to wipe his wounds, which luckily weren’t as bad as they looked. Some cuts on his face, bruised ribs and legs, but he’d heal.
> 
> The guilt of what Bård just caused weighed down on him. Not only was his brother hurting now, but he’d have to constantly worry about being attacked every single day. He didn’t know how his brother was remaining so calm. Maybe it was just shock, or he was in too much pain to speak. He looked at his brother, whose blood-crusted lips shook in the cold. His arms were crossed tight around himself and Bård couldn’t withhold his thoughts any longer.
> 
> “I’m sorry, Vegard,” he started. His brother looked at him, a puzzled look on his face.
> 
> “For what?” he asked, teeth clenched against the freezing wind.
> 
> “What do you mean, for what? This is all my fault.” Vegard looked away, breath hissing through his teeth.
> 
> “No it isn’t.”
> 
> “Yes it is. I got you hurt. And you’ll be in so much trouble, with our parents and those guys. How are you supposed to be normal now when they’re trying to kill you at school?” Despite the increasing urgency in Bård’s voice, Vegard refused to be riled. Bård didn’t understand at all.
> 
> “It doesn’t matter.”
> 
> “Yes it does, you said so earlier.”
> 
> “It’s fine, forget what I said.”
> 
> “How can you say that? I screwed up everything for you. I ruined your chance and got you beat up, and now it just doesn’t matter? That doesn’t make sense.” Vegard ran a frustrated hand over his head, groaning at Bård’s prying.
> 
> “Look, when it comes down to it, you come first.”
> 
> “But why?”
> 
> “You just do, Bård, okay?” he snapped. Vegard looked at Bård; there was clearly more going on in his head than he was saying out loud. Bård thought he saw something like guilt in his eyes, but he turned away before he could speculate any further.
> 
> Bård didn’t want to inhibit his brother, let him cover for him and give up so much, but he didn’t have the will to deny him. He had the feeling that as long as they were together, they would always be like this: Vegard giving, Bård taking, and neither of them giving a damn about the consequences. But Bård would be better, he’d honestly try.
> 
> “They were really stupid, anyway. I don’t how much longer I could have stood to be around them,” Vegard added at last. Bård laughed despite himself, and Vegard eased a smile onto his busted lip. “Honestly, you were totally right. I was trying to ask them about stuff we were doing in class and it’s a miracle they made it past the 2nd grade.”
> 
> “Well at least we’re both friendless.” Vegard nudged him back with his side, and poorly hid a wince at the pain it brought.
> 
> “Don’t worry, you’ll make some soon enough. Next time it’ll be you telling me to fuck off and leave you alone with your cool friends.” Bård hoped not; he hoped he never lost sight of the friends that really mattered.
> 
> Their mother pulled up, got out of the car and ran to her injured son. Vegard sat in the front seat on the way back, pestered by their mother’s questions over every detail of the incident.
> 
> Vegard was right. The following Monday at school, lots of kids had heard about the fight and asked Bård to tell them what happened. He took the opportunity to retell the tale with as much humor as he could, morphing the older boys into dangerously stupid villains who were bravely defeated by his badass older brother.
> 
> He realized how easy it was to get them to listen if he made them laugh. Not only did they pay attention to him, but they liked him. Soon he was one of the most popular boys in his grade, giving every one of his teachers hell with constant joking and commentary.
> 
> Bård was all but ignored in the backseat; he looked out the window, listening to their mother’s voice shift from concern to scolding. Vegard rested his chin in his hands, leaning against the door. Bård shifted his gaze forward and caught his brother’s eyes in the side mirror. Things would be different from then on; Bård could feel it. It wasn’t just him and his brother anymore. There would always be other factors, other people, circumstances they could and couldn’t control keeping them apart. They were brought out of the comfort of isolation and into the uncharted world ahead of them. Ultimately, finding themselves was something they’d have to do alone, but the other was never really that far away. There was something telling in distance—an added layer of trust that even when he wasn’t beside him, he was always there. Bård was willing to give it a shot.  Vegard gave him a smirk with his bloodied lip through the mirror, and Bård returned it before closing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Bård woke up at 3 AM that morning and was unable to fall back asleep. He attributed his unrest to the undoubtedly awful day that was ahead of him. The next episode’s guest had been giving Concorde hell all week; the young singer rather thought himself above the whole show and was making absurd claims about what he would and wouldn’t do. His complete lack of a sense of humor seemed like a recipe for disaster, and Bård braced himself for the train-wreck that the episode would be. 

He arrived at the studio early, having nothing better to do, and sat in his dressing room on his phone. A vague uneasiness settled in his core. The listless feeling followed him for the next two hours as he busied himself with the crew and rehearsal.

When the kid finally arrived on set, Bård greeted him like a professional. He couldn’t be older than 18, maybe 19. The boy returned Bård’s handshake with slight hesitancy. He put on a cocky air but Bård could see underneath it that he was nervous. In truth, he reminded Bård a lot of himself when he was that age—thrust into the limelight and expected to take himself seriously when he was just a kid. Lucky for Bård, being a father that young made him man up—this boy was probably still gaining his bearings.

“Are you ready?” Bård asked.

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” the boy replied, eyes darting to the side and clearing his throat. Bård’s uneasiness began to dissipate and he gave him a reassuring smile.

The episode went extremely well. Thanks to Bård’s charm and joking with the kid backstage, he was able to convince him to do the singing sketch that he refused earlier that week. Bård even threw a few curveballs in the other sketches, and the boy rose to the occasion, picking up exactly what direction he was going in. Bård could almost feel the ratings rising as the taping went on.

When they finished the last sketch, the boy hugged Bård, ecstatic at the outcome. The audience in the studio clapped furiously, and Bård felt light, hugging the boy back. They pulled away and the boy held onto his hand, shaking it firmly this time.

“Thanks, man.”

“For what?” Bård laughed, puzzled but amused by the dramatic change in attitude from their first meeting.

“I was so nervous coming into this, I thought I was going to pass out as soon as the camera turned on. Thanks for being cool, I guess. You made it a lot easier.”

“No worries. Come back any time you want. If this is any indication,” he gestured to the audience that was still smiling and clapping. “You just might have a future in television yourself.” The boy grinned, and their respective people ushered them off toward the backstage.

Bård walked slow, approaching the hallway that led to his dressing room. He wasn’t used to the feeling, being a kind of “mentor” or reassuring someone like that who wasn’t a child. It felt almost brotherly.

There were plenty of people still milling about in the hall, looking over scripts and readying for the next show. Bård spied one of the producers near his dressing room door, speaking with another man. He was tall, dark skinned, head completely shaved, and in uniform. Bård slowed his pace to a stop where he was, and when the producer saw him, a grave expression covered his face.    

The man in uniform turned to look at Bård, muttered something to his producer who only nodded his head and gulped. The man turned and strode with purpose to where Bård stood frozen in place.

It was the way his weight fell in his footsteps, the blank look as he met Bård’s eyes for the first time. That’s all it took. He knew his brother was dead.

Bård never knew the true cruelty of hope until those very moments; standing in front of a strange man, against the unbearable truth he felt deep in his core. He was only able to do so out of the slightest chance that he could be wrong. Bård knew and knew and knew but he stood there waiting for anything but the truth to fall from the man’s lips.

“Mr. Ylvisåker?” he started, voice deep and tone low.

“Yes,” Bård kept his voice from cracking, but just barely. All the voices in the hall had quieted and he could feel every eye on him. The officer looked at the audience that was growing and drummed his fingers on the cap he held in his hands.

“Do you think perhaps we could talk somewhere privately?”

“Is he…” Bård croaked out. His chest started a subtle heaving, each getting quicker and deeper than the last.

“I think it’s best if we talk somewhere—” The officer tried to keep his voice down, but Bård spoke over him.

“Is he dead?” The officer pursed his lips at Bård’s interruption, eyes going to the ground. “Is he?” The tremble in his voice took over, muddling the words on their way out. The man looked up, and opened his mouth to say something, but seemed unable to find the words.

Bård didn’t need the confirmation. He knew. He’d known the moment he woke up that morning. Somewhere in his head he knew and all the time spent between then was the strongest and most blissful period of denial he’d ever experienced. The tears started before he even made a sound—just running, pouring down his face while the rest of himself tried to figure out what to do.

Something along the lines of _Oh god_ slipped out and he felt his legs sway a bit underneath him. But he couldn’t move. He was stopped right where he was, and there was nowhere to run. There was nowhere in the world that would be anywhere away from this fact. Bård wanted out.

The officer realized he wasn’t going anywhere and sighed, taking a step closer to him.

“At 0700 this morning your brother was flying over a major city center, just a regular patrol, and his plane was hit by enemy fire—”

“Stop. Stop I—I don’t…I can’t…” Bård stumbled back, holding his hand in front of him, as if he needed to shield himself from the words coming from the man’s mouth.

“Please, Mr. Ylvisåker, I have to inform you. It’s better you hear it from me now than the media—”

“No, no. I don’t want—I can’t, I can’t hear this.” He could feel his control slipping away, breath leaving his body as he gasped in vain to get it back. His back gently connected with the wall.

“Sir, really I—”

“Please, please stop,” he whimpered. It was like a truck hitting him square in the chest over and over again, and then a sharp knife cutting straight through his adam’s apple—his throat constricted so tight he didn’t know how he was breathing at all. His stomach churned and he shut his eyes tight against the blinding agony he felt. Vaguely he noticed he had slid to the floor against the wall, and could hear voices and bodies hovering above him. They got farther and farther until he felt alone with the words _no no no no no no no no no no no_ —he couldn’t tell if they were said aloud or not.

Then he was in a dressing room. It wasn’t even his, and he didn’t know how he got there, but all he felt was the most intense rage he had ever experienced in his life. He thought he might have screamed, some carnal display of emotion escaping from him, but he couldn’t really be sure. Nothing felt real.

Bård took his hand that was perpetually numb and crashed it through something—daring it to feel again somehow. It hit a box, then table, then a chair, and then the mirror over and over, shattering the surface and then shattering the pieces that fell from it some more. His hand was covered in red, dripping, but he still felt nothing. He slipped again, landing by a standing rack of clothes and felt the itchy fabric of a tweed suit brush his cheek. He curled his legs up into himself and tried to do anything, but the sobbing just wouldn’t stop.

He imagined the hands that used to glide up and down his arms evenly when he got like this. He noticed how distinctly _not there_ they were. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t live. It felt like his brain was jump-starting every three seconds, but never getting farther than the first thought, _Vegard_ , before his stomach would drop and it’d start all over again.

Someone walked in and started shouting for help. He couldn’t even tell who it was—undoubtedly one of his colleagues—either way, they were completely unequipped to handle what was happening to him. There was only one person who ever was, but he was gone.

He wished he would pass out—what he wouldn’t give to lose consciousness for just a few brief moments of peace. Someone called for an ambulance while he waited there—shaking, choking, bleeding—coming to the realization that there was no healer in the world that could fix the fact he was now broken. Forever.  

 

* * *

 

Later Bård realized those sixteen hours—between his brother’s death and the news—were the most blissful hours of his entire life. There would be his life before, his life after, and then those sixteen hours where he was spared the knowledge of ever being changed. He would try to remember everything he could about how he spent that time, every last detail of the purgatory he unknowingly walked through, separate from impact and consequences. He tried, but failed; his ignorance was a sacred memory that his mind wouldn’t allow him.  

He sat on a hospital bed, hand wrapped in gauze with fresh stitches underneath. Curtains were drawn all around him and he listened to the steady beeping of machinery from those around him. He didn’t know why he was there, among patients with serious, life threatening ailments. They even insisted on an IV drip; his sleeve rolled up to accommodate it, and the hair stood up on his arm that was exposed to the open air. He suspected they might have added some kind of sedative to the drip, lending to the slow, steady rhythm his heart adopted since being there.

Plastic links scratched against the metal rod when the curtain pulled back. Standing there was his mother, clutching her bag to her body, signs of crying on her face. She stood there, eyes moving from the IV to the hand that was heavily bandaged.

“Oh Bård…” She dropped her bag on the bed and scooped him into a hug. He did what he could to return it, arms inhibited on either side.

“Where’s Dad?” She pulled away, bringing her hands to either side of his face.

“He’s coming later. We’re going to be staying with you for a little while, okay? Helene and her sister too.” That was every room in his house filled. He thought of the white noise all their chatter would make.

“Okay…” She stroked his cheek with her thumb.

“Oh my baby. You scared me.” She looked in his eyes but he couldn’t meet them. An involuntary shudder escaped his lungs. “Bård? What’s wrong?” He couldn’t look or speak; his breathing only became more ragged. “Look at me. Please, you’re scaring me again.”

He finally moved his gaze, her worried face blurry from the tears brimming in his eyes. He could see the concern and sadness she fought against to keep her composure.

“Talk to me Bård, what’s going on,” she pleaded.

“I don’t know.” The tears fell in slow droplets down his cheeks. He tried to say more, but his mouth couldn’t form the words, whatever they would be.

“Shhh. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. We’re all sad. Just let it out.” She wrapped her arms around him again, and he could hear the tears leaking into her voice too. Sad didn’t seem like the right word to describe the feeling of being absolutely destroyed, but maybe its simplicity was what made it so true.

She stood there pressing his head to her chest, cooing and stroking his hair. He expected his breathing to get worse, more labored as it usually did until he started hyperventilating, but he didn’t. There must have been some artificial comfort pumped into his bloodstream, he was sure of it. Her love was suffocating him. It’s all he would be surrounded by now, every other grieving person he knew invading his home. His head was cloudy. He didn’t know why he had to cry, but he did.

 

* * *

 

The officer showed up again the next morning. He looked exactly the same: same uniform, same stiff posture, same unaffected expression. Bård wondered how many times he’d already done this. How many other families did he have to watch crumble before his very eyes? It must have been a lot, to do it as calmly as he did. His eyes said that he’d seen sadness, devastation, denial, fury—every reaction anyone could possibly have to such sickening news. It made Bård hate him a little bit. In the scheme of things, his brother’s death was just another day at work for this man; no special event or cause for upset. Bård brewed on his loathing while the officer sat opposite his family on the couch, relaxed into a chair in his living room 

His mother entered the room, handing a cup of coffee to the officer before sitting down beside the rest of them. He thanked her quietly and set the mug down on the table between them.

He cleared his throat and looked along the couch: Helene, Bård’s father, mother, and then Bård, resting against the armrest with his chin in his hands. He trained his face to read _bored_ , not wanting to show how panicky the man made him feel.

“Thank you all for having me today.” The Ylvisåkers flashed pursed smiles and shifted in their seats. “Once again, I would like to apologize for this meeting not happening earlier.” The officer looked right in Bård’s eyes. “I couldn’t get the studio to allow me to interrupt the taping without disclosing the nature of the emergency, which according to protocol, is prohibited before the family member is notified.” Bård had to be paranoid or overly sensitive to read irritation in the Officer’s voice. Bård didn’t respond either way, and the Officer looked back to the others. “Part of my duty as a notification officer is to inform you of the specific circumstance in which the casualty occurred. This is the part families generally find the most upsetting, so I’d just like to extend my sympathies in advance.” Bård could see his mother looking at the others on the couch from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t move his gaze from where it was locked on the man. He swallowed thickly and hardened his heart as best he could. The Officer took their silence as a cue to continue.

“Private Officer Ylvisåker was flying his aircraft on a routine patrol yesterday morning,” Bård’s ear perked up at the titles. _Private Officer, his aircraft_ —it would have made him proud if it didn’t make him so angry. “Over a civilian area in southern Russia. I’m afraid I can’t be more specific than that, it’s still classified military information.” Bård’s mouth turned into an involuntary frown. There was no rest to the fucking bureaucracy, even in death.

“His elevation was particularly low while directly over the city center, and he was hit by enemy fire from the ground. We think it was a missile of some kind, but it’s still under investigation. There wasn’t a lot of time, and any other officer would have likely crashed into the civilian area below, endangering hundreds of lives. But, from where the aircraft was hit, he was able—with great difficulty may I add—to pilot the plane about half a kilometer away from the city center. Other than that, there was nothing else he could do…”        

So that was it. That was how his brother died. Bård felt his pulse kick up and slow unsteadily. There were too many mixing emotions to cry about it: anger, horror, deep deep regret. His brother slipped out of the world and there he was listening to the tale, voice silent, feeling and breathing like it was nothing. Vegard fell to the ground, alone, probably burning, probably bleeding, probably choking. Maybe it was quick and instant. Maybe it took a while. Maybe he had time to suffer, to cry, to be crushed with the weight of death coming at him. How would anyone know?

“How do you know?” Bård spoke up.

“I’m sorry?” The Officer turned his gaze to him, brow furrowed.

“How do you know that was what happened?” Bård wished he wasn’t so hesitant to believe such a noble fate befell his brother. “Did you just interpret that by watching what happened from the ground?”

“He was able to communicate a transmission before he crashed.” The mood in the room changed immediately; a charge hummed between them.

“What did he say?” Helene asked. Her voice was strong, insistent, and Bård envied her fire.

“I’m not sure exactly.” The Officer became visibly uncomfortable, and Bård could tell he regretted telling them at all.

“Can we hear it?” she asked. Bård leaned forward to look at her. She sat on the edge of her seat, nails digging into her forearm.

“Not while the investigation is ongoing, no, and even after that…it’s a stretch. In all likelihood they’ll still deem it classified.” Helene’s eyes bore into his. “But I can try.”

Bård couldn’t imagine ever wanting to hear his brother’s last words—ever wanting to hear the panic, the fear, the loneliness. Even without really listening to it, he could hear it in his head, echoing frantic calls out to him—to anyone. But he was alone. And so was Bård.

“Are you finished?” Bård barked out. The Officer whipped his head toward him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you done now? Is that the end of it?” Bård tapped his foot in a racing rhythm. The Officer sputtered a bit.

“Well, technically yes, that’s all I’m obligated to inform you, but the army extends many counseling services that I would like to discuss with you and your family.”

Bård rose from the couch and strode out of the room without a word. He heard his mother apologize for him and then her footsteps follow him into the hall.

He didn’t know where he was going, he just needed out, and instead found himself dead-ended in his office. His mother approached him from behind, gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Bård?” He didn’t turn or speak. Freezing was the closest he could get to disappearing. “Bård, I think we should hear what he has to say about counseling.”

“I can’t listen to him talk anymore. I’m not going back out there.” His mother wrenched him around to face her, and the desperation in her face poured guilt into him like he knew it would.

“Then talk to me,” she pleaded. He stopped and started his speech, unable to find the words to make her leave.

“I’m fine,” he answered. Her face said she was as displeased with her answer as he was.

“No, Bård, you’re not. None of us are fine. We won’t be fine for a long time, and that’s okay. You can grieve however you want, but you can’t bottle it all up inside. Not with this.” He ran his hands over his face, a frustrated groan escaping his mouth. She grabbed both his arms, pulling his hands down from his face and taking them into her own.  

“Bård, you have to talk about it with somebody, please, promise me that. It doesn’t have to be me.”

“I will. Just…not now.”

She probably didn’t believe him, but it appeased her just the same. She left the room, allowing him some time alone. He spent the next 45 minutes sitting in his office chair, battling his own thoughts as they threatened to crumble his composure. Sharp memories of sitting in that exact spot, talking to his brother over a grainy screen cut him with jagged renewal. But he found that with enough concentration, he could dull the sharpness from stabbing to gnawing, and in time he was able to leave the room and venture into the house.

Reaching the end of the hall, he nearly bumped into the Officer, who looked equally startled to see him there. They stood facing one another, unsure what to say. Bård tried to walk around him, but the Officer held his ground, hesitating.

“I was just leaving…” the Officer started. Bård nodded his head and made a second attempt. “I just wanted to say that I understand how difficult this time is for you. I myself lost a family member to war.” Bård paused, unsure what to say. The Officer must have thought sharing vulnerability would make Bård warm to him. But he didn’t want sympathy, or someone who understood. Bård wanted someone to tell him it was all a big lie, a mix up of some kind. And if it wasn’t, he didn’t want someone to tell him about how it was going to get better, or that there was light on the other side. Bård didn’t know how to respond to this man, but it was clear he wasn’t going to go away until he said something.

“I’m sorry,” Bård murmured and finally managed to get past him, striding quickly as he could into the other room. The Officer called after him just before he crossed the threshold. Bård paused at his words.

“Your brother went his entire tour of combat without ever killing or harming another person, you know. That’s quite a feat, Mr. Ylvisåker. Not many men can say that.” Bård caught his encouraging smile before leaving the man for good.

 

* * *

 

“You really can’t feel that?" 

Bård shook his head no. The doctor prodded his knuckles with the tip of a pen. It was three days later; the doctor wanted to check on the overall damage now that the flesh wounds were healed some—make sure there wasn’t a more serious injury he had caused himself. Bård wished he had been hurt worse; a charming, mangled embodiment of what was going on inside him.

He poked the pen in two more spots, eliciting no reaction from Bård. He capped the pen and stepped back, taking off his glasses. “Well, you’ve got some serious nerve damage there to cause that kind of numbness, but it seems like that was a pre-existing condition and nothing to do with these injuries. Once the stitches come out, you might have some scarring, but it’ll be minimal. I’d say you’re going to be just fine, Mr. Ylvisåker.” Bård looked up at the doctor, taking in his placid smile. Bård wondered when people were going to stop lying to him.

 

Bård laid back on his bed, uncomfortable in his t-shirt and sweatpants. Nothing ever felt truly comfortable anymore. His skin was too dry, itching, physical unease encompassing him at all times.

He picked at the stitches on his hands. He didn’t want it to heal. There was something unbearably unfair in his body repairing itself without his consent. He hated every cell inside himself that insisted on pushing forth, fixing, forgetting. Nervous thoughts fluttered through his mind. He read somewhere that the more you remember something, the more the memory becomes corrupted and impure. He wondered if he could fence off the minefield that was his mind, preserve every moment and memory, never setting foot inside them again. They were treasures he’d gladly never look at if it meant he could keep them. His brother’s image was scarce; he needed to do everything he could to save it. That’s what he reasoned, that’s what he told himself was a good enough excuse to pardon his growing tendency to think nothing on his brother at all. He could only focus on the pain, on his exhaustion, while the actual cause was becoming increasingly ignored. Bård wanted to slap himself, to tell himself that pain is good and deserved and needed attention. Helene seemed to be doing a good job of it.

Bård could tell already that they were going to grieve differently—separately. It was lucky for Bård, because all he desired was solitude, and she seemed content to hide away in the guest room whenever possible.

He felt a stitch pop, and felt the skin slowly separate from the tiny hole he opened. The blood was taking longer than he wanted to well up. It seemed even his veins were dried up and drained from the inside out, and it felt appropriate.

_He’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone_

He said it over and over again because he was dangerously close to not believing it. He was trying to rally some emotion; there was some sick need to continue burning, to continue crying and aching and hurting, but it wouldn’t come. There was nothing. Bård was finding that the meaning of mourning was paralysis; there was no moving, no feeling, no escape—just a prison of existing when all he wanted was to be utterly gone.

He went to his drawer, slipped on his brother’s sweater. The crawling in his skin subsided enough for him to settle his head against the pillow and breathe. There was no scent, no lingering evidence on it, the last thing he ever gave him. Bård had ruined it by holding it too close, indulging too much. He wouldn’t let himself make the same mistake again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all this is the final chapter and I thank you so much for reading and sticking through this saga with me. While it's not a requirement, I highly recommend you listen to the official playlist before or during the chapter. It enhances the experience of the chapter (in my humble opinion). 
> 
> It can be found here: http://8tracks.com/hansvlitz/deployed

It took ten days for his body to return home. There was something about an embargo, complications with transport, last minute investigations, other explanations for something Bård didn’t even really care about. In simple terms it just meant they had more time to plan the funeral, which was nice, he thought in passing.

Bård spent the next two weeks moving through his life like he was looking through a glass pane. There was a persistent presence of separation between himself and the rest of the world, and he was glad for its fragile protection.

Except sometimes the glass was gone, and he was exposed to the freezing cold wind of the elements, pelted by every pain he’d ever felt combined and multiplied infinitely. Pain. It was the only way he could describe it. When kind people, members of family, friends coming to visit and pay their respects, would ask him, _How are you feeling?_ _Pain_ , was all he wanted to respond. He was feeling pain, when he was feeling anything at all. Otherwise it was sunrise sunset again again and again, cut between long periods of blank sleep. There were no dreams.

The military men kept coming back with new pointless things to tell them. It was like they thought the more details and information they brought the more his family would feel better. Maybe they did; Bård never paid much attention.

 

_He was a hero—_

_He saved a lot of people by—_

_It was some of the best piloting we’ve seen in—_

_He’ll be awarded the medal of_ —

 

Bård already knew his brother was a good man. He didn’t need the people responsible for his death telling him like it was news. But then again, when the topic of responsibility came up, Bård was rather at odds with himself. In one objective, anger-fueled way it was the army, it was the war, it was Norway, it was humanity’s fault; and then in that gratifying, self-destructive way there was no one to blame but himself. He made his brother promise he would get in a plane. It was supposed to save him, and it didn’t. That was on Bård. But it was hard to stay angry—at himself or men in uniform visiting his house every other day—when he could barely stay awake for more than six hours at a time.

He avoided going into his home office when possible, because he’d pass by the guest room where Helene was staying. Her door was almost always shut, the muffled sounds of crying coming from within. His niece and nephew spent most days in front of the TV, playing video games with his own children. The boy still hadn’t cried yet, and they were starting to get worried. He probably just didn’t understand it really, or maybe he did, Bård thought, and couldn’t decide which was worse.

When the body arrived Helene and his parents had to go to the airport to claim it. Bård stayed home. He was supposed to be watching the kids, but fell asleep on the couch after a half hour of watching a movie with them.

He woke up with a start, hearing the key turn in the lock. The movie had ended long ago, the DVD icon bouncing around the black screen. He spied the children at the dining room table working on a puzzle, throwing his head back again on the couch. His parents and Helene stepped into the room, their faces splotchy and red from newly shed tears. His father held a medium-sized box in his arms, ripped tape dangling off the sides.

“What is that?” Bård asked. His father looked down, like he had forgotten he was holding it.

“Personal effects.” Bård didn’t respond, just followed his father’s lead into the dining room with his mother and Helene in tow.

The four stood over the box on the table, puzzle moved aside and children escorted to another room by their aunt. His father took items out of the box and placed them in a line in front of it, displaying them like an exhibit. It was typical stuff: pocket knife, pack of gum, cell phone, compass, papers, some money.

Then there were the other things, the ones that reeked of meaning. His father took out the dog tags, dangling the chain on his finger like he didn’t want to touch it. Bård’s mother made a choked noise and excused herself from the room. He set the chain down in line with the other things, frowning as he did. Next was the tin, the one full of keepsakes that Bård snooped through on the morning he drove him to the base. It looked exactly the same, no sign of it ever entering the war zone his brother had taken it to. His father felt around the bottom of the box with his other hand, finding it empty. He set the tin down on the table, put his hands on his hips and sighed a deep breath. He looked at the objects before him, face unreadable, and left the room without another word.

Helene turned to Bård, now the only ones left, and held out her hand to him.

“Here.” He looked from her face to her outstretched arm that pressed a folded piece of paper toward him.

“What is it?” A fearful sensation struck him, and he inched back from her marginally.

“These are the only things he had on him when he crashed.” In her other hand she held up a ring between her thumb and forefinger. His wedding ring. She gave him a tight smile and pressed the paper to him again. He took it, hesitant and unsure why she was giving it to him at all. The edges were worn, dark lines rimming the folds where it had been opened and refolded many times.

She patted his arm and left him with the museum of Vegard’s artifacts. Slowly, as not to tear the dry, delicate paper, he opened it up and revealed the faded ink that covered the page.

There was a crudely drawn cartoon of Vegard in a plane, upper body poking through the top and giving a salute. Below it was Bård waving up to him, standing on a vague outline of Norway. Bård recalled drawing it that morning when he was supposed to be packing his things, and remembered all too well the words he wrote beneath it.

 

_Listen, while you’re cruising around 20,000 feet over Moscow, I’ll be back home taking Norwegian television by storm. I’ll probably get even more worldwide-famous than I already am, with my huge success, hilarious comedy, and dashing good looks; and then when you get back, (and only because I’m so nice) I’ll let you get in on the fame too. Although if we’re being honest, having a sob story like a brother away at war is what’s really going to make people pity me and watch my show. So when you come back, try to shatter a femur or something so people will still feel bad for you. A slight limp for the rest of your life is a small price to pay for our fame, don’t you think?_

 

Then, scribbled in the tiny strip of white left at the bottom of the page,

_Stay safe. Love you._

 

It was the only time he’d ever written those words to his brother in his whole life. He was only able to do it in the first place with the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to face Vegard’s ridicule until he returned a year later. Maybe Bård knew all along he wouldn’t come back. Vegard had been so sure he would return, maybe damaged, maybe ruined, but he would come back nonetheless. Maybe Bård was wiser; unknowingly took his chances with weighted words because there would be no confrontations to face his vulnerability. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t realize he was crying until he was halfway up the stairs to his bedroom. It was 4:30 in the afternoon and he slept soundly until noon the next day.

 

* * *

 

The dead wear makeup. Bård had forgotten that, and was reminded as he stared into the face of his brother’s body lying in the casket. He stood alone in the back room behind the chapel, waiting patiently for another service to finish. Just him and the polished wooden box—flowers affixed to the top and the upper-half open. There were slightly off-color smears that covered burn marks on the face and hands. It’s not like it is in the movies. The body doesn’t look graceful or at peace—it just looks dead. And then there’s the faint smell of formaldehyde as he got up close. All were unwelcome reminders that the thing sitting in front of him wasn’t his brother. It was a corpse.

But as wrong and repulsive as it was, it was what used to keep his brother. It was the body that Bård hugged, smacked, stood on its shoulders. No matter how far away it was from his real brother, it’s what Bård had left to keep. For a little longer, at least.

There was slight wear and tear to the body; you can’t get out of a fatal plane crash without it. The mortician had done a good job covering up the burns and scratches, Bård noted, just able to make out the outlines of marks beneath the coated face.

Bård grazed the edge of the jacket sleeve, taken by some external force that temporarily relieved his disgust. He pushed it up, further and further, revealing the unpainted, bluish skin beneath. What he was searching for was no longer there: the scar he gave his brother the night before he left was now swept over by a stroke of charred flesh.

Bård fished into his jacket pocket, pulling out the worn square of folded paper. He teased the edges with his fingertips, trying to trace one last time a touch his brother likely made. He couldn’t let him be alone. Not like this, not forever. With haste he pushed the note into the inner pocket of his brother’s suit jacket—just over his heart. It worked once, maybe it would again.

Bård’s mother entered the room to fetch him. It was time. The other family mourning just before them had finally cleared out, and someone would be in shortly to move the coffin into the chapel. He cleared his throat and followed her through the double doors to the left, leading to the outside. He’d stand out there with his parents and Vegard’s wife, greeting people as they came through the front doors to attend the service. He’d smile, thank them for coming, hand them a program—it was like they were coming to a play. In a way that’s what it really was: an elaborate show where they’d publicly display their grief and wipe it away once the curtain fell. Except Bård was stuck living this role for the rest of his life.  

He was glad he wasn’t the only one speaking. There was their father, who would lead, then whoever else had anything to say about him—funny stories, anecdotes—and last Bård would close the service. He thought a lot about what he would say, what he could say, and came to the conclusion that no matter what, it would never be right. The right words didn’t exist to surmise their entire brotherhood, their dislodged life together, and anything he came up with would be an unjust commemoration.

But he had to say something, it’s what one did at things like this, and so he wrote the speech everyone wanted to hear. 

More people came than he thought would. The chapel pews were packed with every face he could remember through the years; people they’d worked with from the start on the stage, the school years before, all the way to Bård’s own show—people Vegard had never even met.

The mourners settled into the aisles and Bård took his place by his family in the front. His father rose from their row and stepped behind the podium. He started going on about Vegard, what kind of person he was, what kind of son, what it was like to lose a child, but Bård tried not to listen too much. If his speech had begun to pull him in, the sound of choked tears in his father’s voice kept him out. Bård reasoned that if he was going to be there, if he was going to stay there, he needed to do everything he could to feel like he wasn’t. He knew it was weak, and if his brother was there he would probably hit him and tell him to buck up and just be present, but he wasn’t, so he wouldn’t.

Next lots of people they worked with said something about him. Calle gave a particularly glowing speech, almost good enough to rouse some emotion from Bård. Their words were kind and true, but Bård could only think on his turn next. When no one else made for the pulpit, Bård rose from his seat. He had been dreading his eulogy earlier that day, that week, when he was writing it—but now he just felt blank.

As he took to the podium, he found memories piercing his consciousness, struggling to permeate the carefully built wall in his head. The wall had never felt weaker. He placed a paper in front of him, one that read all the things he would say to the crowd, the defining remarks about his final thoughts on his brother. The wall was falling quickly and sacred memories pooled around his heart.  

“Thank you everyone, for coming here today to honor my brother.”

> _Vegard sitting with Bård on his porch one afternoon, the sun blaring down on them and Vegard looking into the distance with a masked expression._
> 
> _“What?” Bård asks; he didn’t quite hear his brother he had said it so fast. Vegard just rolls his eyes._
> 
> _“I just said you’re going to be my best man.” A smile fights to creep onto Bård’s face, especially against the nervous one Vegard tries to hide, but he pushes on._
> 
> _“Oh. Is that a question or demand?” Vegard scoffs, irritation brewing at Bård refusing to let him out of his vulnerable spot._
> 
> _“Like you’d say no.”_
> 
> _“I could. I could be very busy that day, you don’t know.”_
> 
> _“But you’re not, right?” Bård sees the hint of worry in his eyes, and Bård just smiles back at him. Vegard releases a breath and returns it._

“Everyone looks up to their older siblings, and I was no exception. We all want to be just like our big brothers, even when they’re being exceptionally uncool, as Vegard was 85% of the time.” Minor laughter echoed from the crowd. Bård swallowed hard, not knowing how long he could pause before he wouldn’t be able to start again.

> _Vegard teaching him to ride a bike. He lets go of the seat before Bård is ready, even though he promised he wouldn’t, and Bård starts to panic. He hears Vegard yell to just keep pedaling, so he does, and to his surprise he’s riding away on his own. His brother’s cheers get smaller in the distance as he pushes on, faster and faster refusing to stop._

“Vegard was a peaceful man. He never killed anyone in combat and saved hundreds of lives by piloting his plane away from a city center. He kept those people safe, just like he did for me all throughout our lives.”

> _Bård drifting to sleep against an airplane window, his brother’s thigh pressing into him from the seat beside him while he reads._

“I’ll always be proud of him for what he did while at home and in combat. He was, and is, my constant inspiration as a performer, a father, and a brother.”

> _Vegard bowing beside him on the stage. They’re exhausted, but it’s the best performance they’ve done to date. They run off the stage and Bård thrums with the adrenaline rushing through him as his brother claps his shoulder, manic laughter matching his own._

“And he was my best friend.”

> _Sitting in the office together, laughing at something no one else in the room seems to understand._

He didn’t talk about how the world was ripped in two. He didn’t say that he could still hear his brother’s thoughts, even now as he stood on the podium. He didn’t say how he could feel every ounce of fear, doubt, and loneliness that his brother felt as he died—alone. He didn’t mention how wrong everything was, how his brother was supposed to be coming back in three months, not sitting in a coffin in a stiff suit and patchy makeup. He was supposed to be whole, he was supposed to be okay, he was supposed to be there. Bård was becoming accustomed to racing thoughts contradicting the words he spewed from his mouth. Funerals weren’t really about the dead; they were about the mourners who came to placate their loss in a structured, appropriate way. So he didn’t say any of it. Instead, he coughed up safe sentiments. Ones that made everyone feel okay, secure. He wasn’t going to give them everything; they were private people to begin with. He’d keep his love to himself, reserved just for them two, locked deep within the recesses of his heart.     

> _Vegard sitting in front of his cake for his 14 th birthday. The dim light of the flames glow on his smiling face until he blows them out and is shrouded in darkness._

He got to the end of the page, everything he had prepared to say said and done. That would be it. The final words on the most important person in his entire life spoken, put down on record, the book closed. A storm of emotion released the lock on his mouth; just one last thought slipping out before he could stop.

“My brother was my whole life. Every single part of it. To be a part of his too for as long as I did is more than I could ever ask for or deserve.” Sentiment surged within, brimming dangerously to the top, and he could not bear to feel what he tried to sleep away for so long in front of every person he ever knew. “Thank you.” He nodded to the crowd, pulling the paper off the podium with a shaky hand. Shuddering breaths shook his body as every ounce of control he had worked to keep him from breaking down. His father took to the podium, thanking everyone for attending the service and prompting them to move to the cemetery adjacent for the burial.

He looked at the floor, feeling the eyes on him as the crowd filtered out of the chapel. His wife placed her hands gently on his shoulder, leading him out with the rest of the crowd. His head lifted but he saw nothing of the scene before him.

The winter air hit his face, biting at his skin with chill. The clouds had since rolled in; even the sun refusing to bear witness to the heinous ritual that would take place. Bård lost the moments between the chapel and the grave—the pit that would consume his brother for the rest of eternity. Maybe he was romanticizing it; it was just a hole in the earth, not even that deep really, and that’s where his brother would be buried. Marked with a stone, just like everyone else there. Bård repeated these facts as the burial went on, willing himself not to slip into another panic attack—he knew better now there would be no one to comfort him out of it.

The company stood around on either side: family on one, friends on the other. There was a man at the front saying things as they lowered the casket into the grave. The actual burial itself went by rather quickly, Bård thought, but then again there wasn’t much else to do. They’d already said their words; all there was left then was to dispose of it. Bård tried to think cruelly, coldly—for his own heart’s sake—but it was beyond him. When the ceremony was over and the crowd began to disperse, he was overcome by a swooping placeless feeling. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but drive away and move on—and that he could never do.

Only his family remained standing by the grave: his wife and children, parents, and Vegard’s family. He looked to Helene, who stood weeping into her palm as her daughter bawled into her side. Standing beside them was Vegard’s son, caught alone in the swarm of grief that surrounded him. His face was dry, as were his eyes; the boy hadn’t cried one bit during the entire ordeal. His expression was blank, lost, and Bård knew every self-pitying thought he had over the past two weeks was completely undeserved.

Bård approached him, kneeling down beside the boy. He didn’t turn, just stared intently at the gaping hole in the ground.

“Hey,” Bård whispered. The boy still wouldn’t turn, eyes fixed in the same spot. Bård wondered if he was really looking at anything. “Hey, look at me.” Bård turned the boy’s shoulders toward him and forced him to meet his gaze.

And there he was. His brother was there right before him, breathing, blinking, with so much life ahead of him. Bård couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from his eyes, but something far different from panic urged its way out as he pulled the boy into a tight hug. It was an apology.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the boy’s ear. “I’m sorry I kept him for so long. I know it was unfair, how much I got of him, and how little you did. I was selfish. I just couldn’t let him go—you have to understand.” He pulled back from the boy, holding him at his shoulders enough to see his blank face. Bård wiped away tears with the back of his hand roughly, sniffling loud and clearing his throat.

“But that’s going to change. I know now. I’m going to do for you—I’m, I’m going to do my best…” Bård struggled for the words, gaze drifting down from his face. He breathed deep and lifted his eyes up. “I promise you, that I will do everything to help you not miss him. And you’ll do the same for me. We can help each other, yeah? He can’t be here, but I will. Huh? How does that sound?” The boy’s brow furrowed, bearing a striking resemblance to his father again. Then, tears fell down his cheeks and sobs racked his body. Bård pulled him to his chest and held on tight. _I’m here, I’m here_ , was all he could say over and over, rubbing his back like his brother used to do for him.

It was the truth; being there was all he could do, his presence the only path of meaning his life could now take. And that meant all of it. No more sleeping away his memories and his pain. There was something selfless he had never learned as a younger brother, something he was only beginning to become aware of. It was a new kind of love, one that honored by duty against every earthly urge to hide and flee the scene. No more waiting to be asked, just forthright support and love to the family that suffered the same loss as him. Maybe they felt it less, or differently, but they suffered it all the same.

Bård took the boy’s hand and led him to where Helene and his niece stood. His parents took note and gathered Bård’s wife and children, ushering them toward him. Helene looked up at Bård’s hand on her shoulder, and shook the ragged breaths from her lungs. They looked at one another and knew it was time to go. Bård leading the charge, the Ylvisåker family walked from the grave to the outer world beyond. There, they would face reality, context, how small their loss was in the scheme of the ongoing war. But the loss was theirs, the grief was real, and they would face it—together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing Bekka (Deaths_Impala on AO3) made the note that Bård writes to Vegard and it is /exactly/ how it's supposed to look. 
> 
> So if you fancy having a visual go ahead and take a gander: http://ylviswagger.tumblr.com/post/79877053816/ylviswagger-watch-me-give-myself-horrible-feels 
> 
> (and then give her praise on her work as an amazing human)


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER. GO BACK TO CHAPTER 11 AND MAKE SURE YOU HAVE READ THE ENTIRE THING BEFORE PROCEEDING. Otherwise, insane spoilers will occur. Seriously, even if you think you have read it, just go back to double check.
> 
> Okay good, now that you already did that and are 100% caught up, I want to thank you again for reading, giving kudos, commenting, everything. Elsker deg.

The strange thing was how decidedly _not over_ his own life was. In a warped way he was thankful he got the time to wean himself off his brother. Every day that Vegard was gone at war, another block was put into place in building Bård’s own life without him. Except there was never enough time, really. There would never be enough days to learn how to be whole when you were born a half. His loss acted like a phantom limb sometimes, when his mind would trick him into forgetting he was gone, for just half a second, before remembering. He tried to think that it hurt a little less every time he did.

But he was doing well. He had a successful show of his own, wealth, security, family… He was okay.

In time the war ended. Not before Norway broke the NATO pact after too many unneeded losses. The surge in activism and protest—helped by some key members of the media and entertainment business—eventually swayed public opinion so that the country could do little else with a population so opposed.

Now Bård was the eldest Ylvisåker brother. In some ways he felt like he understood Vegard more now than he ever did before—even with their psychic connection severed. There was an air of responsibility, some innate instinct to protect at all costs. In the year that followed he spoke to his little brother more than he had in the previous three. Bård felt like he had five children, his niece and nephew were such a frequent presence in his own household.

The boys were the same age, and became thick as thieves. They went to the same school and spent most afternoons at one house or the other. Helene had wanted to move them all back to Bergen, but stayed only after her children begged her not to take them away from their cousins. The boys were very different; Bård’s son loud and boisterous while Vegard’s was shy and reserved, but they worked. Hearing the two finish each other’s sentences and make up games together would shatter Bård if it didn’t make him smile so much.

The world didn’t turn gray, but there were days he could only see splashes of color. There was no solution to grief, no end to loss, no real way he would ever be over it. But when the lights dimmed, he looked to the traces his brother left behind—the life that breathed and grew and persisted in the world. They were there, seeing in him everything that he saw in them. And he kept his promise.


End file.
